The point was swans.
There were slim tucks to be
bent beneath the implication
of wings never with conscious
thought of flight but still
creased, triangulated.

You returned to the page,
penciled a sketch
to suggest downy feathers
soft submission proposing
we paddle companionably
side by side.

When that didn't work
you cut parts of me

I tried. I unfolded
to you, curved myself
for your crooked chains
but my hands were snipped.
I came unglued then
flattened out entirely.
There was a tear
where my voice used to be.

Maybe you just wanted
a paper doll but all
I could be was an airplane
sailing away from you
on some unknown course.

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byAngeline© 10 comments/ 3586 views/ 3 favorites

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