Where she can fly

Years she spent
wearing the same old wardrobe,
simple threads of words
spoken by so many
which kept her feeling
so shabby and unworthy.

But unable to endure the pain of tears
from their disapproval
she let them be her life,
always feeling less
than complete or properly dressed
by the weave of other's desires.

Then they irritated her spirit
once too often.
Finding a place alone
to ignore the moans of ghostly fears.

Stripping away
those pathetic fabrics,
discovering wing that were hidden.

Wind brushes against her joyful
nakedness of her true being
standing instead of always bowing,
ready to let the breeze
take her to
where she can fly.