Etched

Even after discovering
I am no architect,
I visited his plans for me
and saw beauty in
lines of submission and
of promises held higher
than wind in mountains.
But I would not lose
my voice or give up my wings
so I went back to find
a place that existed before
his eyes would pierce
or his voice would grumble.
There are places yet to be etched
with softer desires
and whole portraits waiting to bloom.

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