Bird

Just a poem

Today I am alone with the birds.

Inside this cage of warm walls and wallpaper and kind people and smiles.

I find my fingers trapped in the white of the sheets wrapped around me.

It's soft. It's like down feathers.

Won't you take me away?

Though I stay here, with these people and these things that are so warm, I yearn to be with the birds.

I stare out my window into the splash of stars, as they drip down, bleeding, reflecting into my eyes.

They're free, so free.

I promise I'll be small.

I promise I'll sing every day and I promise never to complain of the good things I have, saying they aren't good enough or that I am hurting because there are no eyes on me.

Or because they are the wrong kinds of eyes.

Good things  that are so artificially warm to me.

Please make me a bird.

Please make me a bird so I can fly away, so I can be without cares, so my heart won't sob every night for wings that I do not have.

This cage is loud, with too many spots of tar, too many stains on it's past, present and future.

This cage is decorated with rose gold and gems but inside, it is rotten.

It's black and hurtful and the floor is breaking beneath me, cutting me with it's shards.

Inside, I'm wounded.

My wings aren't mending.

Every night, and every sunrise, my eyes are heavy with liquid crystal and I have a heaviness in my chest coating my heart.

Every sunrise, my skin glows golden, my body barren of feathers.

Here, in this cage, in this trap of glue holding me captive, I am suffering.

Please God, won't you make me a bird?

Reviews

[Sydney]

So much I could say. I just adore you're writing it's so emotional with just the right amount of pain. Beautiful