"A bird is safe in its nest - but that is not what its wings are made for."
These wings are meant to fly; through the clouds, over hills and mountains and far, far away from any distractions and annoyance. Just to be free. But I'm no bird; I'm a freaking angel. Or, if you'd prefer, a human with wings.
You see, 16 years ago a baby was born. That baby was me.
I tell myself that no one could handle my beauty (as in the stumps on my back), which was why I was, technically, thrown away. I lived in a dumpster for several months, until an absurd man carried me over to his flat and treated me like an animal; pulled my hair, beat me, wouldn't feed me for days and I'd cry and cry until no tears would fall down my bruised cheeks.
Eventually, the imbecile got bored of me and left me to rot in his flat. I had snuck out of the place via the window and wandered around town, day after day eating scraps and collecting pennies that had been dropped accidentally. As my wings and I grew, I travelled places. Learned new things. I learnt a lot of things.
I learnt how to socialize. I met new people, made new friends. I learnt how to ride a horse (after many black eyes) and as I reached the amazing age of 7, I learnt to fly. It took me long while to learn – it's not as easy as you think. You can't just spread your wings and fly, you have to learn how to use the abnormal muscles: how to open and close your wings, how to raise and lower, how to tense and how to… un-tense, I guess. Then, you have to learn how to take off; you need very powerful legs and extremely high patience, not only to take off but to land. I've learnt ways around sprains and broken bones over the many years of my life.
And after 16 years, this is me. Hi. Nice to see you. How are you? What's your name? I'm associated with the sky both ways – name and body – as I named myself Skyler. I prefer Sky, nevertheless.