they want i be an angel

they want i be an angel
in this world, which is my
own defined heaven
of soil and air; water and flesh

but which shall they want?
one of the celestial seraphs
pure and
six-winged?

to place that hot
coal against the
lips of all those sinners
to atone their sins?

i'd rather not
to be honest
be anything anyone
wants

but instead be a girl
which is plainly good
and perfectly fine
in and of itself

i'd not want to carry
a bag
over my shoulder
heavy with the expectations

of Man
who loves rules
and rulers
the keepers of keys

i do desire flight
but with wings
made from the
joys of life

and not those
nailed to my
back by the
false prophets

of men
who assign controls
to people like
birds to cages

they want i be an angel
for what purpose
i can't say; it's a
two-thousand-year mystery

a girl should
rise up in the world
without someone
holding the kite spool

i desire no
tether, no strings
and would float
on currents freely

i'm a girl on a
wooded path asking
her father questions
about gnomes

or faeries
or the principles of
animals among
forests

my father
who has daughters
and sons
equally

and can be faulted
for wanting something
grand and brilliant
for me

but his assignations
are forgiven
because they are not
violent ones

he wants me to
want and to be
wanted fairly
and to be ever wishful

his wants are
not Man's wants
for girls
which is salt on the tail

i see gnomes
and wooded goddesses
and i feel the breath
of the Mother

i dance along
the paths with
the inquiry of
the innocents

i am young still
and look up
to skies and down
to fallen trees

i'm not to be
an angel
but i will
know heaven

hang no wings
on me and i will
fleet over their
unsuspecting souls