As I cut P strings
You clipped my wings
My beautiful purple wings
I knew i couldn't reach the wooden clip
I turn to P.
Grabbing him by his shoulder
'You can be a real boy'
I wanted him to believe me
I needed him to believe me
And for that moment he did
He did for that moment
To unclip my wings
Then fell to the floor, wooden.
He curled into my binded chest, sobbing
His wooden tears splintered my skin
but I left him sob
We both knew what was keeping us from becoming real boys
P. needed to believe he was a real boy
I needed my mothers approval
Needed those six words
'You can be a real boy'
Yearned for then to wrap around me
Like the Christmas fire
Warming me inside and out
But instead she says
'My daughter, Selena'
Each word hit the bottom of my stomach
Like a boulder
But one day, P. And I will to never land
And be real boys
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem