Neither a prison, nor a convict’s bars
I ain’t scissors, clipping a bird’s flight
I’m no golden chain tied to your foot,
nor decor in a shattered glass cage
I’m no hood forcing your wings shut;
your flight is your own.
If I am anything, if I dream to be anything,
let me be your sky, vast and open,
a canvas for your wings to stretch,
where drunken blues embrace your flight,
and your beauty unfolds—
a beauty you may not see,
but I, as your sky, witness it fully.
Let me be the air beneath your wings,
lifting you to express the truth of who you are,
guiding you to find yourself,
not as others wish, but as you choose to be—
free, unashamed,
beyond the gaze of those who envy the sky
yet dare not take flight within it.