Past times, lost times.

Run bird, it is your day.
Your day to shine,
The skies will be mine.

You have been given a label,
one to fly,
in the sky,
until you die.
And you are proving them wrong.

What if I told you that you were different?
Would you prove me wrong?
Would you stand up tall and do what's different from different,
in an act to be normal?

Or would it all be the same-
All the same because you are you.
Not different,
But You.

I don't get it,
I don't think you get it either.
You are just You.

So bird,
Run.
Hop.
Leap.
Stretch your wings and soar.
Because maybe flying just seems a little too daunting to be doing from the start.