Clipped Wings

We were always good friends. He would be the available 1 AM number I’d fumble with my fingers when some guy broke my heart again. I would be the morning call he made after another chick has turn out to be typical manipulative psycho. We would schedule plans to see movies after the 9 to 5 daily grind. This was us. And we worked perfectly this way.

Even when we were single, we were always just more than friends but less than lovers. This flirtationship- well it’s a totally made up word for what I have with him- was some void I filled for myself until I felt myself falling deeper and deeper into my self-deprecation. I started picking up hints of my own ugly jealousy implode when he talked about other girls. The feeling churned my insides as I ignored every sign. He soon began to appear everywhere. When I saw a character on TV with the same name, my ears perked up and my mind swarmed with thoughts of him. This is madness I’d tell myself. But I couldn’t fool anyone. I had started to see him more than just my 1AM comfort.

It was Tuesday night and the sky was lit up with sparkling Christmas lights ready for the festive season. We walked to a local pub and sat down at a small round table just for two in the center. We talked all night long until the bartender came around for last call. I loved having him during the graveyard hours. He would discuss his hopes, his future, and reflect on his damaged past while I listened and gave my slight input; fascinated with each word he spoke.

“If you could describe me as anything, what would I be?” he asked with his head resting on his left hand as he looked up at me.

I giggled, “What? Um… okay. Let me think…”

“A Pirate.” I finally answered.

He gave me a bewildered look, “Go on. Why?”

“Cause you’re always out in search of that perfect Pirate’s booty!”

We both laughed at my witty remark. I caught him tilting his head back as he chuckled at my response. Then I continued, “Okay, okay being totally serious. You are always out there looking for your ultimate prized possession; that fine piece of precious treasure that matches you perfectly. But you seem to always get off course. You end up falling prey like any other man to the sirens during your voyage. They appear through the glistening waters like gorgeous mysterious creatures, but underneath that layer of beauty, they’re nothing but vicious devils.”

He looked so intrigued at my tale. “So, what are you then?”

I took in his question with a quiet sigh. “Me…? Well, I’m just a phoenix. Rare, eccentric, once liberated but now my wings are clipped.”

“How so?” He asked me with a tired yet sincere look in his eyes.

Disregarding his sudden response, I went on with my tale, “I sit on top of that pirate’s shoulder, providing him with support and guidance. You know, like those annoying parrots do. But we’re different. I’m that rare bird you so heavily confide in. We’ll be like best pals setting sail on an adventure and braving through perilous storms together.”

I stared up to the ceiling imagining what our journey would be like. Then, I faked some bullshit weak smile at him to top the end of my fairy tale.

That night, we parted ways and as I sat in the taxi looking out at the reflection of the diamond sky paved on the car window. I gave in to a somber smile reminiscing our shared laughs.

I knew in my head that being a small supporting role in his story meant more to me than not even existent in his life at all. I felt trapped. For it seems, I could not live without this pirate anymore. He was the grin I had on my face when I drank my morning coffee remembering how caffeine doesn’t faze him. He’s become the glow I have anticipating all day long at work of our dinners on Tuesday nights.

Yeah, I felt trapped even though I was just a small character in his life.

These clipped wings will be the death of me, but it’s worth every single wave I ride along.


She left and I lost my home.

It hurt so much it felt like all the air was vacuumed out of my lungs.
The slightest movement a struggle.
Tears poured like hurricane as my eyes lost vision during the drive home.

What a foreign concept when love slowly eludes us.

“Home is where the heart is” they said.

So, where is home now?

My stomach had a nervous pit.
My hands shaking with anxiety.
Head spinning with fear that it was all one-sided.
All at once, it hit me.

It was one-sided.

She’ll never love me the way I loved her. I never once walked out on her, but it was so easy for her to pack up her things and walk away.

My breath of fresh air had been contaminated with her greed for the allure of others. She wanted more, and that honest truth left me feeling worthless. I couldn’t give her what she wanted because she’ll always be chasing butterflies where the grass is greener.

“but some part of it will always not feel right”

I was trying to explain to her what she could not grasp.

I wasn’t unhappy in my relationship by any means, maybe just stuck in a conundrum.

“It’s like there’s a bottle and a cap, and no matter how I try to screw on the cap, it doesn’t seem to fit perfectly –

It still functions as a bottle in that the cap screws on and nothing will spill out nor would anything fall in. The bottle still works, but some part of it will always not feel right.”

That was the best way for me to explain my conundrum.


He leaves a thorn in my sides as each passing day goes by that we are together.

Toxic relationships grow and grow. The thorns prick my skin one by one; day by day until there’s no surface left to puncture me. He’s taken all of me.

So when the time finally comes, and I’ve mustered enough bravery to leave and let it all go, it takes one day at a time to pluck out each thorn he’s left in me.

The recovery is painful, they say. The recovery is hard.

And as each day I pull with might, I feel the twinge of throbbing memories being yanked out. The petals glisten and cheer.

The buds start to say, it’s one step closer to leaving it behind. Thorns no longer impaling my emptiness but piling up on the ground where I left the rest of that darkness.


Fall Leaves Gathered and Laughed

Learned what unconditional love was when I found myself in the same detrimental state. Constantly making up bullshit excuses for your actions because I thought you were it. My person.

The love of my freaking life.

I started making up pro and cons trying to prove you out weighed anything else that mattered. 

Fall leaves gathered and laughed at my blinded sunshine, reminding me that though seasons change, people don’t.


6am is my favorite time of the day. The world actually comes to a halt. Flurries of emails haven’t stormed my phone. Streets haven’t been stacked with cars armed for swerving battles. The day is open and quiet. My mind has a small snippet of tranquility.

The timer on my coffee machine sets off and gorgeous brewing amber races for my mug. The scent fogs my living room while the sun barely peeks out yawning and stretching its sunshine through the clouds.

My keyboard readies itself to create symphonies. The flickering line in an open doc waiting for today’s rhythm to start. I lightly place my fingers above and start to type; spilling feelings, rage, characters with unimaginable valor, and pasts with wounded scars.

My mind is clear and hopeful that for the next 24 hours maybe just maybe… my life and the stories I create have a chance of something new, something great, and something memorable. 

6am is my favorite time of day.