THE ANGEL
To question whether being placed on a pedestal is empowering or restrictive. It critiques how admiration can function as a subtle form of control.
It came to me like heat,
without fire.
A softness pressed into my throat,
asking to be swallowed.
They teach us to be light,
quiet enough to carry,
soft enough to forgive,
small enough to hold without asking.
But feathers fall too.
Angels bruise the air when they,
descend.
I wore wings like a promise,
stitched from silence and expectation,
taught to hover,
instead of arrive.
I learned to float,
by forgetting my weight.
To stay holy, I stayed still.
An angel is just a woman,
a woman who learned how to look, untouched
while being held too tightly.
I am light as a feather,
not because I am harmless,
but because I learned how to rise,
without asking permission.
