Cage

angels don't feel

they don't cry

they don't want—

wanting is a sin

to be your guardian is to lose her identity


inside the cage of her ribs

lies the bird of what she once was

crying to be let out

envious of the children she holds

close to her chest

watching as they cling to the bars outside its cell


she gives them wings from the bird's feathers

made of light—

she glows in their darkness

and then, with a smile on her face

she watches them fly


an angel does not wonder

how many feathers are worth the pluck

she gives until there is no more

then she waits for new feathers to grow

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