A Poem Post

I Never Wanted to Fly

I never wanted to fly--not just because
I'm scared of heights
but because what if I tried and didn't get quite high
enough to be part of the sky. . .

And for the rest of my life I'd have to lie and tell you
I'm fine, while I look back and die
a little each day.
Regretting that this dream of mine
shriveled and shrunk to two-thirds the size
of what a dream ought to be.
That might kill me.

Like the morning your eyes reached
for my throat and I wished. . . I wished
I could go back and tell my first lie all over again.
Make it much more grand than it wasn't me
I'd say that it was.

Although I know I'm not what you want I was once
what I wanted to be.
And then I turned six and tripped and fell
on a playground of stones and sticks with words
that hurt more than I'd like to admit
with kids in their cliques where I never quite fit.

That's when I think my dreams began slipping;
sinking into those cracks where I began tipping
way too far towards insecure
and I lingered--
and hope fell through my fingers
like the books you saw me drop that day.
I'd say it wasn't me you saw,
but you were there to see
firsthand that I wasn't what you wanted,
anyway.

So I told a new lie--I never wanted to fly.