on growing wings-

the art of growing wings is a tedious, yet violently beautiful endeavour. it is a feat in itself to even begin an attempt to do so. to love self enough to patiently wait for the revelation of such a strength to endure. because that is in fact the beginning of this journey to freedom.  i cannot tell you when mine began, but for the sake of retrospection there is a moment that stands out above the rest. it was in a valley i saw the first wing peak through my hollow ribs. at the time, i didn't comprehend what was taking place. i just knew it was something of a breakthrough as the holy clouds hovered and the saint in me cried out to her god.  in realizing there were many in her life, she shattered them all leaving but one. 

 

now the valley has transformed into a mountain and my second wing burst through, but i'm convinced there is no limit on the number of wings one body can grow. there is always space. 

 

so i dance on my once valley, now mountain, and with open arms and a heart abandoned i shout out my freedom for all to hear. those in bondage to their past, come and see what true love has done to this once ill spirit. come: you too can be set free.

 

in being true to self i return to my first love. the love that gave me the closest taste of what it feels like to fly. i will teach my daughters and sons to dance in the freedom they were born into. may their lives imitate what i hope their mother's does: a life so completely free it is an act of rebellion. 

there is an art in growing wings, like in dancing, it is a graceful one.