They don’t want me to have a high opinion of myself

because it doesn’t feel right to them

I should only feel in accordance with my place

on the ground

and if they feel bad about themselves

which they often do

I must adopt a lower position

where depression is the standard forecast in their weather

and they are the only ones allowed to have an umbrella.

Suicide starts to look like freedom

from my assignment in the rain

like bright sunshine, cutting through their dark clouds

but my life is worth more

than their assignments and pain.

I fly my kite in their storm

relishing my rebellion

that can only be felt when their wind blows

and I go higher and higher

they don’t know how to pull me back down

My colors depend on sunshine

Red and White


dancing with death

I wouldn’t have it any other way

they don’t know what to say

they scream, defame, and try to humiliate my heart

but my kite flies higher

like a beacon of hope

for those stranded, on the ground.

2 thoughts on “My High-Flying-Opinion

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