My wings are decorated with fancy and delicate,
I look so lovely in your screen of perception.
My wings are clothed in mache of deception,
My wings are an illusion of what I create.
My wings are a necessity for my image.
My wings are my picture and visage.
My wings are a mirror of my creation,
You see what I want you to see.
I soar as the legend of Icarus,
Until the rains of truth fall rigorous.
I am hit with a dose of reality,
It feels like dropping wax on nerve endings,
Bitter rain droplets exposing my paper wings.
I walk on ground exposed and vulnerable,
Looking for a place of refuge for the disabled.
With the fear of rejection and battered wings.
I look for more sheets for my paper wings.
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Thanks for reading, You can have a look at my poetry collection
