Two Birds with Broken wings how will we ever learn to fly??

They tell me that you’re a bad girl. They say you sleep around. They say you’re a sexual deviant. They say I am making a mistake, that I’ll play the fool. They say you got a drug a problem, an alcohol problem, and least of all a love problem. But it is not as if I don’t have some baggage of my own, I hide in my own chemical walls that I built strong. Reinforced with a jumble of words I call poetry and I hide from the light for I disdain the world so. I have done deeds that have left men broken and maimed, blood was just a taste I grew accustomed to. I have had my best friend die in my arms bleeding rivers of crimson into that storm drain early in the dawns clean light. So you and I my love, we are like two birds with broken wings how will we ever learn to fly, with all this weight we carry on our souls?
You came to my dwelling late one eve and I had been biding in a chemical veil, since half past three, a few friends gathered to celebrate something trivial something meek, through the fog of my mind your slender figure came across that door frame and your beautiful face, I was certain of its celestial nature but when I looked into your eyes I saw you were just as broken as I. We sat and talked, I offered you a light and you took the invite as the moon shone clear from that black sky. The first phrase off my lips was “Girl, I don’t believe in love” and you replied with “Boy, no need to worry, for nor do I” and we sat there in silence for a bit taking in the majestic night sky. I told you of the rain and the clouds and maybe you caught glimpses of these chains around my body and the walls that I built high around my heart to fend off love, for I know I caught a glimpse of yours. I asked for your name you just said “Boy, call me Bonnie and you can be Clyde” and I said through an exhale of smoke “That’s fine by me” I thought to myself “for we all know how there story ends.” We continued talk as the night dragged by; I knew we were both playing the game of attraction.
Which was all right, for we both knew our desires which led to a first kiss on that chair, and it was nothing pure. It tasted like tobacco and gin, and we both grinned, we woke up the next morn in the clean light of the dawn. And throughout the next week I wondered was it love or fear of the cold that led us through that night? Oh, how I tried to raise my walls back to those imposing heights around my heart and seal you away from that tender organ of tissue, blood and emotion. To no avail these walls crumbled and fell slowly but surely, cracked and weathered by some unknown assailant, I told myself to resist, to keep building, to keep fabricating but it just caused these facades to fall ever so swiftly. I have also come to perceive that as these walls fall down to the crimson earth below, these chains and shackles are starting to break free from my body they no longer clank with each step I take nor do I feel there weight with each breath I gasp at. I think the same may be happening for you as well.
So if neither of us believes in this fairy tale called love I wonder what I am falling into every time I gaze into your soft brown eyes? They say it’s a trap that I am plummeting into, though I think they are wrong this time.
So my love, you and I we are like broken glass that has been shattered in the tempest of this world, place our shattered pieces of glass together and the stained lives we live into one frame, the cracks sealed but all can still see, for when we are together our beauty shines forth like the radiance of a stained glass window in the midday sun.
These fairy tales have drugged told us what to expect from life and love that there is always a happy ending, a happy beginning and a happy middle, a beautiful princess and a dashingly handsome prince, crafted by the gods themselves. A match made in heaven. Unfortunately, I come to shed some truth on this matter, and I am sorry to say you are being deceived for the path of life and especially the path of love is nothing like this, especially in regards to love for the fairy tales tell us that everyone is perfect and everyone is symmetrical but I disagree for that is a façade. The fictitious story I have told above illustrates that what we search for is not always perfect or pure but can still be found. Love is the cracks and stains in the person that we feel this towards and the cracks and stains in our own lives we live. One can think back to the story of Bonnie and Clyde and not think of the ending of there love but the story of what made them into what they were and the love they had during there life. The person who holds our heart accepts us as who we are and what our person and essence is. So maybe two birds with broken wings can learn to fly or at least try to catch that wistful breeze.