my own.

My brother flies, but our

sister and I must learn to.

I am grateful for the

freedom I do have:

they can’t stop the sunset,

i’ll always have my dreams.

they can’t force thoughts

into my head, i’ll

always see the world

through my own lens.

But my family chains me.

the push-and-pull of

our mother’s strong moon and

the burn on my back from

our father’s harsh sun

whip the tides of my soul

back and forth in the nest.

I used to think when I

grew up I’d be free.

That I’d graduate,

spread my wings,

fly out of the nest.

I used to think I could soar.

That was before I realized I had

such featherless wings.

in the end,

i belong

to my parents.

i am not

my own.