An angel without wings

I've been called an angel without wings by an older man I know in my college town. He can get a little too close for comfort at times; on one occasion he wiped my nose for me while I was suffering from allergies. So I try to keep a firm distance though I recognize that he is a nice and passionate individual. I've been thinking about the metaphor he used to describe me. I figured I would run with it and see where it takes me.

Sometimes I do feel like an otherworldly visitor on this planet. I could have been a angel from another planetary realm--Neptune, for instance. I must flown too close to the earth's atmosphere. Perhaps my wings disintegrated when I entered the ozone and I plummeted to the surface. I've been down here for a while hoping that my wings would grow back. But all I have is this scar at the center of my back. Like a rotten and dry tree trunk--a dead thing.

So I have lived here, mostly in isolation. Too sensitive to the cruelties and vices of the inhabitants surrounding me. I try to go with the flow, but like a rock I generally remain unswayed. I tend to do things on my own and leave when I sense death around the bend. Should someone recognize that I'm not from here I'm sure that person would seek to eliminate me or make my existence even more uncomfortable. I try to emulate the dialects and mannerisms that I am exposed to. Sometimes I am successful but it does not earn me any sincere companions.

Adults seem to like me. Perhaps to them I am like an exotic little bird. I'm foreign and unfamiliar but still pleasing to the senses.

I tried to worship like members of my clan but determined that I could not speak with their deity. I was simply pretending. So I stopped participating in their rituals although I maintained a strong connection to the music. My spirituality remained intact.

I provided comfort and understanding to my peers but was often not rewarded with the same treatment. I have since learned to be more selfish and to protect myself more. A dead angel cannot ascend back to her Neptunian home so I have to keep myself alive. Like other earthlings I have to pick my battles and accept that I cannot save everyone. I may even lead others to their deaths.

I miss the cold, the ice rains and the everlasting darkness. Sunlight takes some getting used to here. Before I would only go out under cloak of darkness even against the wishes of those who wish to police me for having fat in my breasts and a vulva instead of a penis. But I've since gotten used to the sun. It brings me a different kind of energy, lightens my mood from time to time. As I've gotten older I've started to shed some of the shame that has grown on me since coming to this planet.

If my wings ever do grow back I wonder what kind of creature I will have become. Will I even be recognizable to my family? Perhaps I should just remain here and go on pretending to be human. But really I am just an angel without wings and I'm so far away from home. Maybe I will never reach this place called home. Maybe it doesn't exist anymore.