Planes ascend to the skies like birds on a mission
My feet kick to and fro as they hang off my seat in front of the window
I like to watch the chosen ones fly through the breaks in the clouds
The ones god picks with their bare hands with fawn like tendencies
I wonder if one day I will be picked from the earth
Like a pebble hidden behind tall grass
Or a fallen bruised fruit
Passed over by giant humans in their peculiar tastes
However God will see my bruised skin and flesh
Knees scraped from tennis shoes of joggers
And children released from school
Plucked from the tall grass I will be seen
Tossed through the tender clouds of sunrise
Warm breaths of peachy skies
Welcome me to fly with angels
But gravity slides her long fingers around my ankle
Pulling me back to my seat
At the window
Watching the angels