that's mrs. mediocrity to you

my breath caught in the net of my throat
and the dance of a butterfly
held my tongue

and there was nothing to say except
wish you were here

and no camera
can take a photo as real
as my heart
pounding

or the taste of adrenaline in my
never-better peanut butter sandwich

or the way i couldn’t move
for fear my body would take wing

or the truth of never wanting
to come down

.

.

.

.

where we shall fly

matters not

.

it is always enough

to have wings

.

.

.

.

amaryllis in

glorious

mixed-up

confusion

.

the lesson here

is bloom

when you want to

.

.

.