A Hopeless Faith

I think…

I come from the Heavens,

For the face of the sky is scattered glowing freckles

that mirror the dark ones on my cheeks and this is why I think

I come from Hell.

The spots on my face are backwards stars,

Each one makes up a larger piece

of a dark black shard of ice I had to smash through

As I crawled up out of hell after it froze over.

I think…

I come from hope.

My imagination is to blame for my months spent as a child

Collecting every bird feather I could find

With the intention of sewing them into a pair of wings.

And I come from a hopeless faith because when I realized

That the human body was not meant to fly

I sent prayer after unanswered prayer up into the sky

To whatever God I didn’t believe in

Asking why exactly it was,

That my wings would not grow.

I am now as old as I have ever been

And have aged to know that it’s not the wings

composed of hand-me-down feathers I should be holding onto,

But rather the naivety that propelled me up

Instead of holding me captive.

I want to grab hold to the kind of spirit that doused me

In the belief that


I will be soaring.