As I see the grey sky
from the snow frosted glass window
I wish to be free like a bird
and to trust energy stored in my body fat
to take me to places
or any place for that matter,
away from here.
I open the door
to confront snow and chill.
I saw my boss approaching.
A fear takes over me.
Sweat trickles on my spine.
My wings have receded into me.
Listening to her subtle derogatory comments
the passion for flying in me starts to freeze,
worse even,
I find myself nodding to her words.
Every winter I ask:
How can end I misery
of my stilled existence?
When I don’t find an answer,
I continue to believe in walking
though this can’t be a substitute for flying.
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