I am a broken voice box
on a dusty shelf
because I couldn't express myself
in words you understand.
I told you there was beauty in the complexity,
in discovery and secrets.
That everything didn't have to fit
and that dreaming was how I lived.
I gave myself fairy wings and surfed the clouds
past the edge of the map;
Fell into another world,
My cheek still has the scar,
from when you hauled me to dry land
and told me I had to breathe air now;
Imagination was reserved for children
and that my toy box was empty.
You were an anchor I had no need for
and I think I'm still
drowning in that shattered innocence.
I don't want to be a tree;
I want to be a bird.