No love for a gray dove, whose feathers may not be the purest of white but whose heart is filled with the joy of flight.
Outcast amongst the beauty, but is full of the thought of unity.
Her wing lift with the same grace as pretty floating lace.
But why do they hate ? because of my thoughts, my heart, or is it because I am sometimes late?
Though my wings may take me up and far beyond the stars, no matter what thay say , sticks and stones may break my bones, but words, they always leave scars.
They sting, wound, and reopen too easy as injurys often do, leaving the question what did i ever do to you?
I hope to never be like you, jealous, shallow, and cruel, always looking for someone different from you to duel.
But why should i care, my body is to no other but the air, who does not care what i look like, it lifts and carries any bird even if it has no flare.
the wind has no feeling, no judgement to call.
never depending on my appearance would it ever let me fall.
The sky is open, forgiving and free,
So why can't you be that way with me?
It does not drop a certain bird because of its looks or point of view.
So why should you ?