Ode to Dotty

By
I love you, yes,
but I don’t need you.

You are but
a feather,
lost in my wing.

A beautiful one,
though,
I will admit.

You stand out,
black,
from the pristine
off-white—

but you disrupt my flight,
for you stick out.

My velocity takes a
blow,
my fear starts to
show—

So I wait
(a season)
until I start to shed,
and thank God for my
newfound
speed.

After all,
there’s euphoria to be found

in the freed.





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