Unmanifested Wings

Tiny nubs poke just above my shoulder blades,

Bound, restricted, cut, bloodied, plucked, strapped to my body

Underneath a façade of stiletto prestige.

The shadow of my subconscious silently commands:




Every blood feather

Every bit of down comfort

Painfully pulled at the root

So frequently that it goes completely unnoticed.

Until the day it stopped…suddenly

The day the shadow went silent.

A cone of grace formed

All around me

With a complete sense of peace.

Slowly, v e r y s lo w l y

The bloodied nubs formed scabs

And scabs gave rise to tiny quills

Which birthed new blood feathers

And puffs of down comfort.

And after all of these years,

I realized that the tiny nubs

that poked just above my shoulder blades

weren’t nubs at all.

Instead, I discovered

that inside my cone of grace,

through time and s l o w healing

I had been given wings

so long ago

that I don’t even remember

when forgot how to fly.

We all have wings-

Unmanifested nubs

Yet to be discovered.

What would happen

if we stopped restricting them

and just let them grow?

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© 2018 Blue Phoenix - All images on this site are protected under copywrite law and may not be used without the written permission of Artist Heather Thompson