Tell me-
What happens when you cage a wild animal?
Does it forget what it is meant to be?

Does it forget to hunt,
And gather food,
And search for its prey?

Does it forget that it is no longer free,
That it can no longer reach-
Past the glass enclosure?

Does it forget its instincts,
Its defense mechanisms,
How it protects itself?

Does it forget the family it once had,
Its home,
Where safety came easily?

Tell me-
What happens when you cage a living being?
It forgets what it is meant to be.

Is a poet still a poet
If they do not write?

A journal gathering dust,
But a yearning to write.
Am I still a poet
Without my inner light?

My quill set for the page,

Yet my mind’s eye is upstaged,

Betwixt them sits a wall,

But here no war shall be waged,



I search for beauty and pathos,

Yet my aperture gathers only stone,

If the barrier were to give itself kudos,

For having left my page all alone



But to think of the possibility,

That the wall itself but not a writer,

That the curvature of the laden brick,

Creates a paradox of the block.

Am I dead?

Dancing in the moonlight, I sang a soothing song. You laughed.

I live.

Clouds come in on puffy fluffs. You float away.

Until the morning tide.

Waters suffocate me. Your hand on my mouth, pressing down so my parents can't hear. Lights dance inside my eyes as I press my legs together.

It's  too late. You impress me. Your seed has penetrated my womb and the child is born.

There's blood on my white pillow case. Shards of brick in my hair. A brick, broken in half on the floor.

My head is pounding, aching, throbbing.

My heart. Oh, my heart! It is dying.