"My heart and lungs
Are like songbirds in a cage,
Compressed so they
Can no longer function,
Weighed down by
The poison in the air
And in my blood.
Break my ribs and set them free.
Set me free."

I set down my pen. Poetry comes easily
to me but today I am stuck. That
terrible, gnawing feeling in the pit of
my stomach is back, the one that seems
to say to me, "Your words are useless,
you can never truly express the
complexity of emotion through
something as imperfect as words. You
were never very good with words
anyway."

There it is, the truth. Words and I have
A complex relationship. Most say I use
them well because they do not know
better. They think that I have mastered this,
that these combinations of letters serve
me like a goddess.

They are quite mistaken, for I am
powerless against them. Words are a
mystery to be left unsolved. They are
my only useful tool.

I cannot speak, I write because I have
time to ease the words into a
cooperating mood. The voice is hard,
cutting and swift. There is little time to
craft something beautiful from it when
our imperfect human mouths
spontaneously spew whatever thoughts
make it to the threshold of our minds.

Though all these things are true, all I
really wish is for someone to listen.
Listen to only what is important. Do not
bother your ears with my voice, because
my voice is flawed. My voice is cruel,
and will hurt you , and will tell you
things that will lead you far from what
I am really trying to convey.


No, all I wish is for you to listen to my
written words. Though your ears my
not hear much but the scratching of a
pen, I hope for your soul to hear my
masterpiece, this symphony of only
half-conveyed thoughts.

I wish for you to listen to my songbirds as well.
Hear my heart beat softly like a
pulsing flame, and hear the wind
whistle through the echoing caverns in
my lungs. This is the sound of life, and it
is in the trees and the water and
the earth as well. This is what perfect
words sound like. Nature has
learned to speak perfectly. We could
learn too, if only we could stop and
listen...

And so I write:
"Listen, there are songbirds,
I assure you.
One is drumming along,
His beat muffled by human flesh,
And the others are whistling while
There is still air for them.
Can you not hear?
Unlock the cage,
Oh, break my ribs and set them free
Oh, set me free.
Then they will fly from my
Bloodied chest,
And their song will be clear.
I will listen
And learn to sing this
Bittersweet melody too."