Unstring my wings.
Pretty little thing – doe eyes, gentle smile –
These things you call me and it’s sweet for a while,
Until they wrap up my wings in tangled twine,
Restrain me from nature and you think that it’s fine.
I have brittle bones and one word could break them into pieces for you to collect:
When this started, I could not expect
To be taken for a thing for you to call yours,
Take me from the moors and keep me indoors –
Babe, I just want to be free
And maybe that means that this isn’t meant to be.
Though tonight I won’t sleep a wink
For all this thinking, and overthinking,
I know it’s for the best.
You – you have put my heart to the test
And I am sick of making revisions
To fit into your future visions
Of a white picket fence life,
For I was not meant to be a wife,
Not really. I was meant to be a wild thing,
Running through forests, free to unstring
My wings and let them fly.