On a different Tuesday,

my wings work, and so do your eyes.

You catch me in the periphery

of those gleaming trophies,

and you crane your neck to see me:

my straight teeth and small waist,

soft eyes, a girl's face,

smooth legs and clean wrists,

and, for one day, I exist.

You flash your good-guy smile,

make me pink and dizzy,

and I like it, somehow.

I'm stumbling now.

Instead, you catch me

on the side of the field:

man-hands and bones like yours.

You jog over, say "hey, man",

and flash your nice-guy smile.

Make me sick and dizzy.

Your eyes still on the trophy.

Fist round the cross on your neck.

A lingering glance, my lips start to part,

and it means nothing.

I wish I was a girl, and prettier than her.

Would you see me, would you want me,

would you stay?

And hold me without needing

to pray your sins away.

Maybe I'm sick.

Maybe you're right to fear the Fall.

So you fly, blindly,

and my wings don't work.

~~~

Edit: I wrote and posted this while very sleep-deprived so please excuse how bad it is😭