Do cacti crave hugs?
Do they mourn their loss of touch?
Their thorns protect them—
But do they ever want more?
Tell me, are cacti touch starved?

I had a nightmare
My ****** flesh was torn off
Your clothes, rotting skin

Little bird,
Your cage is not of my making.
Little bird,
I see the weight you carry, silent, unseen.
Little bird,
My hand is open, only if you wish to land.
Little bird,
I promise not to squeeze too tight.
Little bird,
I'd never clip your wings.
Little bird,
I’d never take your sky from you.
Little bird,
Let me build you shelter, not a cage.
Little bird,
I’ll walk beside you, not ahead.
Little bird,
I ask for nothing, only that you know,
Little bird,
You are free, even here with me.