Concrete Wings

Silver and blue and bitter rose
Laced on the edges with gold.
Their wings so thin they almost move translucently

Mine are gray and hard as rock
They hardly dare to move
My wings are only concrete.

I fall to the cold, unforgiving ground every time I dare to fly
Their paper wings move with the air, allowing them to soar
Their dance, much prettier than mine.

Their song is a mix of melodies
Not quite fitting together right.
A musician's greatest nightmare.

My wings are ugly, and my dance is a sight
But my song is my own
Created by me, myself, and I.

My song tells of sweet tales,
Heartbreak, love, and lore.
A patchwork quilt created by me.

Orange and green and tickle-me-pink
The stitches will always be perfect
This is the song I love to sing.