Are you a fallen angel, my love?

Your wings so delicate,

Shield a soft frame.

Do not hide behind your feathers,

Dearest,

For your beauty is not bounded by your body,

It grows within,

A golden heart caught between your ribs.

Like a dove,

You sit,

Cradled by snowy down,

At peace,

And one with the world’s chaos.

I know there are wounds you cannot heal,

A hurt that will never cease,

But you do not have to be afraid anymore,

My love,

Your wings are not a treasure to be taken,

An oddity to be erased,

And I will not treat you as such.

People cannot understand what doesn’t fit,

Within their standards of familiarity.

You are beautiful, darling,

In every essence of the word.

You are the light the sun brings,

The joy we carry,

And the hope we seek,

Despite others’ small minded beliefs.

As Emily Dickinson once wrote,

“Hope is the thing with feathers,

That perches in the soul…”

You settle within peoples’ very beings,

With your courage,

Inspiration,

And grace,

Which is why they glare at you so.

But you are deserving of all the love,

The stars can give,

For, my darling,

Your wings are a gift,

But your heart is a blessing.