My heart is a bird
trapped in my ribCage.
The wings have been clipped.
it does not live
for the beating of another
bird's wings or sing for
your heart next door.
It does not stop for the wind,
to hear the world sleep
or move life through my arteries
the way it once could.
My body is the cage
that holds a bird
painted to be a heart.
But when the bird is gone,
a body no longer has purpose.
(A cage in need of prisoner)
Tho even in freedom,
the bird cannot fly.
Her wings have been clipped.
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 1:36 AM UTC
My heart is a bird
trapped in my ribCage.
The wings have been clipped.
it does not live
for the beating of another
bird's wings or sing for
your heart next door.
It does not stop for the wind,
to hear the world sleep
or move life through my arteries
the way it once could.
My body is the cage
that holds a bird
painted to be a heart.
But when the bird is gone,
a body no longer has purpose.
(A cage in need of prisoner)
Tho even in freedom,
the bird cannot fly.
Her wings have been clipped.
April 2013
