Yoked Feather

You are not what I want,

I wish you'd stop "loving" me.

How am I supposed to know Love?

She eludes me on her angel wings until

  my branches can reach

  what humans ignore above us.

And I can't blame her.

I wish I could hide, too.

You, with your angst and growing needs;

They aren't forefront in my mind

As I am for you

  A swan at her best,

  A cuckoo at her worst,

And if possible, I'd dazzle all

  with my blue-green plumage.

I wish I was ready;

I can't fly just yet.

Author's Note

The title doesn't make sense until towards the end.