Ink-tipped wings

I fly on wings of shredded paper
and my fingertips are permanently ink-stained.
There is paint in my hair 
and holes in my jeans. 
I don't care though
cause in my mind what I wear doesn't matter,
and the only things I paint are my walls.
There is no need for me to have a gender 
and when I laugh
it always sounds different.
I dance on a stage made of mismatched socks
and I smile the pain away. 
They say curiosity killed the cat 
and it might do the same to me. 
I write my life on wrinkled pages
and draw my dreams with broken pencils. 
My heart is only held together
by stitches made of love and pine needles.
There is dust on my window blinds 
and fairy lights on in my closet. 
My heart beats to the song I am singing, 
the song of peace, joy, and living.  
I splash through the puddles of disappointment and sadness 
cause I'd rather watch the water sparkle
than slowly soak into my socks,
and although sometimes I am in a bubble, 
a different reality, 
I still live in this world we all share
and I don't plan on leaving it,
not any time soon.