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Its a rite of passage.
Something to assuage our juvenile existences,
To beat wings against the air and take flight,
Where we fly to no one knows,
But all I can say is former lovers turned foes,
Attributed to this ascension,
Looking at my unclothed body,
Freed from all the criticism of before,
The fetters and chains of years and years of “am I good enough’s”
Ducked heads and ego sprains,
My head elevated uncloaked,
How those hours of extreme desolation,
My fists pounding the stagnant air sucked out my lungs,
Cursing my former loves in every manner of tongues,
Briney tears burn my eyes,
Like witnessing my own demise,
Worked in my favor,
Look at me now.
I’m soaring.
Above me, blue sky limitless in its grandeur,
Before me endless horizon, breathtaking in its power,
Below me, a place I know I’ll never go back to,
Like looking behind me,
My past has passed
Plus this present is a gift,
My future welcomes me with celestial arms,
God’s angels give me lift.
Who am I?
But a man transformed,
Formed by the fires of the past,
Lured by the glory of the future.



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