anne taylor

failure
feels like fake smiles
a hollow stomach
and a drooping soul

though it’s only a bruise
I see a tattoo
my mirror shows a scarlet F
stamped across my face
dripping down my cheeks
and into my mouth
so everything I say is tinted red

how dare I believe
my only risk was flying too close to the sun
when I barely got off the ground

how can I continue to stretch my wings
when they are ripped and torn and bleeding