Self-portrait

Flygohr
Flygohr
Nov 24 · 2 min read

I learned
That I can’t know what’s inside my head
until I crack it open
That letting go doesn’t mean
to give up

That I can’t fly
if I’m not looking at the void below me
That I already have wings, they just
can’t bring me home

If I have none

I’ve been left on this planet
by an absent father
and a mother who did nothing but
fill me with doubt and guilt

Why?

I don’t know where I come from, I don’t remember
but I have dreams that are growing bigger
I know where I’ll be

I walk among the ghosts from my past
Between fog and tears
Scraped knees and bandaged up knuckles
Dead leaves are rotting under the rain
The street is just a black spiral grabbing me down

Hands heavy with darkness crush me on the ground
Where I crumple, a hole in my chest
Walls close on me,
the ceiling moves up quickly

I come out of a bleeding sheet
My wings are made out of paper and ink

I wear black and I draw skulls
but I’m just as scared as you
maybe even more

I can assure you
I don’t look so tall on my knees
While I crawl, hands covered in mud
in blood
from all the mirrors I broke

I’m so proud of what I am

I turn another page
I drink another beer
I swallow another drop of Xanax

I write another line

Flygohr

Written by

Flygohr

Welcome to a place where words matter. On Medium, smart voices and original ideas take center stage - with no ads in sight. Watch
Follow all the topics you care about, and we’ll deliver the best stories for you to your homepage and inbox. Explore
Get unlimited access to the best stories on Medium — and support writers while you’re at it. Just $5/month. Upgrade