on being built to rise
while still being human enough
to break.

my bones adjust.
joints realign.
ligaments learn the grammar of it.

the body shifting
in ways my mind
cannot understand
and my mouth
cannot utter.

like tendons were negotiating.
like cartilage was counting down.

a feather loosens.

plumage.

specialized layers.
overlapping structures.

feathers locking
into one another
like quiet architecture.

stitched to my being.

you can see my wing span.

how far can these arms stretch?

human aircraft.

no better than a plane
or a jet,

just made
with more heart.

navigation by instinct.
altitude measured in breath.

turbulence
like my spirit
being awakened.

the body learning
the physics of longing.

the wind beneath me
keeps me high.

the sky above me
keeps me conscious.

i spend so much time up here
the sun begins
to bleach my feathers pale.

i endure the rain
that weighs them down

and the storms
that test their strength.

pressure building
at high altitude.

weather carving its memory
into the structure of flight.

now i know how to fly
with weathered wings.

in clouds
of risk
and desire

there is erosion
at the edges.

i soar
through this compromised sky
with my compromised mind

anchored to gravity
while defying
the laws of it.

you see a dark angel
and judge me
by the color
of my wings.

but forget

plumage
is only the surface.

beneath it

bones.
joints.
blood.
structure.

the quiet mechanics
and rigorous engineering
of becoming.

some days
feel like escape.

others
feel like evidence.

proof
that God gave me wings
and watched
to see what i would do with them.

the air feels different
from up here.

thinner.
quieter.
honest.

how far
can these arms reach
before the sky
calls it too much?

how wide
can these feathers open
before gravity
starts asking questions?

it was never about
learning how to fly.

it was about
learning how to rise.

rise
after the weather
has worked you down.

rise
after judgment
has tried to define you.

rise
after the body
has argued
with its own limits.

rise
because you remember
what it took
to grow these wings.

rise
because once you understand
the cost of flight

there is no returning
to the ground.

my wings stretch
beyond the limits
of my back.

my wings wrap
around my body

like protection
or confession.

judge me
by the color
of my wings.

but you will never
judge me
by my flight.

it is hard to see
from where you stand.

altitude
teaches distance.

there is no more negotiating.
no more counting down.

i know
what these wings are.

my wing span
no longer something
i question.

but something
i carry.

and plumage

the surface
everyone studies
before they decide
what i am.

but plumage
is only
what you see.

what my wings represent
is in the eye
of the beholder.

what do you see?

flight?

burden?

escape?

when the weight
of them settles
across my back

will they make me fall

or soar?

what have your wings
asked of you?

how far
do they stretch?

what has your back
learned to carry?

can you fly

or do you just
call it flight

because

you survived

the fall?