2O26 Tom Lee Poetry and Spoken Word Contest, Second Place Winner: Analeigh Ngo

Imprisoned
Analeigh Ngo, Lausanne Collegiate School

One day, I will grow wings—

or tear my body apart trying to invent them.

Because staying here, tethered to the floor, feels like being politely buried alive. Because I am tired of surviving quietly.

Do you think Icarus regretted flying to the sun? Or did he regret listening to the fear that came after? Did he smile on the way up, knowing at last he was higher than the voice that told him to stay small?

They say he fell because he wanted too much. But what if wanting was never the sin? What if the real tragedy was that the sky let him taste freedom, then asked for compensation in gravity?

They warn us: “Don’t fly too high.” As if the ground hasn’t swallowed just as many people as the sky ever dared to.

Maybe falling is not proof of failure. Maybe it is evidence. That once, you believed in something enough to jump. That once, you trusted your wings-even if they were made of wax and hope.

To fall means to have once soared. To ache means you’ve reached beyond comfort. And if I burn one day, let it be said that I felt the sun on my face and chose wonder over safety.

One day, I will grow wings.

And even if I fall, at least the sky will know my name.