Spluttering angel wings;
they sprout from my back.
Spindle fingers,
like the silk webs of pale spiders.
I reach to touch
the velvet sky.
I can't grasp it all.
Will I ever fly?
- - -
GASP, there's some rhyming in there! I dunno about this one. I like it, but it feels kinda choppy.
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"Write with our backs to the wind and our faces to the hard, bleaching sun."