DISGUISE

Every time I try to fly as a bird,
But they pluck the FEATHERS behind me.
Telling they are saving for me, the feathers
For I may LOSE THEM WHILE I FLY.
They promise me they would give me back one day,
But I know, promises are meant to be broken;
Especially the promises which are not really PROMISES.
Perhaps, they may give back,
But they would have already put THEIR colors on my feathers
And made them THEIR OWN;
The colors, that are not really mine.
And the feathers,
My feathers would have been decayed and destroyed for me.
Maybe, they will really give me back,
But then, I may have, eventually, been TOO TIRED to fly.