This isn't a poem

This isn't a poem,
This is just a thing.
It's about me
And how I wish I had wings;
How one day I intend to take my wrist
And on a star make my final wish.
I'll close my eyes,
I'll bite my tongue,
I'll hold a blade
And stroke a gun.
I'll shed a tear,
I'll yell out loud
To the bees in the garden
And the birds in the clouds...
Slumped over in a corner
In my darkened room on a sunny day
I'll grow my wings and wish my pain away.
I'll pump my fist into the air then crumble to the floor
And weep from despair.
I'll try to get up .
I'll put up one last fight.
I need my wings.
I need them tonight....
This isn't a poem.
This is just a thing....