“I am my own delimiter.”
3, 2, 1, Lift off!
If your imagination’s feathers aren’t clipped, you can pretty much fly in any sky.
But who’s feathers have been snipped?
Nearly everyone.
And who cuts the feathers of others and even themselves?
Nearly everyone.
Who accepts their broken wings no longer yearning to soar?
Nearly everyone.
The cutting happens at a fairly young age.
That’s dumb.
I don’t see it.
Don’t quit your day job.
Clip the scissors of others who’s wings can’t flap.
I’m embarrassed and stupid.
What was I thinking?
I’m no good.
As we butcher and kill our right and left quills,
not realizing we are pruning our own flight path.
But we’re no longer that youthful
peer-pressured putz who cuts their own plummage,
just to fit in.
Or are we?
Let’s be a pilots and not passengers.
Happy are those who fly their own sky.
