To Whom it May Concern

I am writing you this letter with great restraint. 
Far from me to make you feel attacked;
I wouldn’t want the rise and fall of your chest
to be compromised by my cinderblock words.
But, I think we must acknowledge our position
and perhaps reevaluate our relationship.
You told me I could fly,
fashioned my wings out of scrap paper
and threw me off a hill.
Now that I have taken to the altitude,
I’ve built wings from pages of bigger books
with stronger words and thicker plots,
you have started to ground me 
keeping my feet at sea level.
But like a beating heart, the art of flying 
can only be stopped by death.
And though the idea has crossed my mind,
I chose to believe you do not want me dead.
So I think it’s best we keep our distance.
I promise not to fly too close to your mind
If you promise not to shoot arrows at my head.

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