Divergent

I analyze the synchronized motion of our wings

In harmony, up and down; repeat.

We have matching florescent colors and patterns

Tattooed on our wings

Most categorize us as “the same” but I

Am much more than the classification of your stereotype.

The beautiful thoughts weaving in and out

My mind has no limit, no translation, syllable

No painting can illustrate such magical creations

No point of the finger can mumble, “The same.”

I have always been the bird who found much

joy while flying away from the flock

not because I didn’t like flying with company

but because I am a bird of passion and love

lucky enough to have known

the difference

of lust.