She laid in her cage, her feathers combed,
She was a beautiful red parrot.
She was taught what to speak and taught how to be,
But she lived imprisoned in a cage.

She was looked after well, and she lived with class,
But this wasn't where she longed to be.
She stared out the window, at the bright, blue sky,
And wondered how it would be if she could fly.

She had everything that she'd ever want.
But why did she feel so dull and lost?
What would her life be outside this cage?
All these questions burned inside her with rage.

She longed to live of her own free will.
She wished she could be released.
But alas! She'd live and grow old in age,
As free as a bird in a cage.

I feel it, I feel it to my core

I feel it, an empath to my bones

I feel it, not sure where to go

I feel it, the pain I know is real

I feel it, I know down deep that this is time last spent

I feel it, I want to fight it, but to what end?

I feel it, is it worth it?

This is my life, is it worth it?

Does my life justify the fight?

The demise is imminent, is it worth the fight?

The collapse is assured, if I give up, will it be alright?

Oh, America the promise, what has become of us?

No longer I pledge, my country ‘tis of thee

I feel it, as I watch the destruction of liberty

I feel it, the collapse of the “great experiment,” so they say

I feel it, the genocide and slavery of which we were born

Were we ever really different than those who came before?

We tell ourselves lies to keep from confronting  the horror we inflict

I feel it, the hate, the racism, the treatment of people born brown

I feel it, powerless to inspire, to change, to resurrect common ground

I feel it, but what does that even mean anymore?

Liberté, égalité, fraternité.
L’ homme est né libre,
Pourtant partout il est enchaîné.
An eternally torturous question,
Oozing out of our minds like an infection;
Are we all equal?

Perhaps not when it comes to skill;
Some can lead, some can thrill.
Some can cook, and therefore feed;
Some can run, some can read.
All of us can do something –
No standardised test,
No uniformly assigned competition
Could ever possibly measure
This unique treasure,
The human ability to set off on an endeavour
And achieve astounding feats.

So, then –
Are we born equally endowed?
Perhaps not; should differential talents
Be stimulated, encouraged,
Voiced aloud?

A resounding yes, a thousand times yes!
We should only accept being under duress
When of forced labour and working to exist
We start hearing less and less,
When that concerted effort is directed
Not at striving at surviving
But at truly living, not just slowly dying.

Truly living is about doing what you love,
Being able and free to do so,
Learning that which you don’t know
And expanding that which you do know.
This is not our reality –
We are all born exactly the same,
Yet the country you were born in
Hell, even your family’s name,
Are things that determine
Where you will be positioned
In this foul, ***** game.

This is where we aren’t born equal –
In our right and access
To freely engage in the pursuit of happiness.
There is a seedling of potential in all of us,
One that can be grown –
Let it be known
That all seedlings can become a mighty tree,
If given the following three:
A space in which a fertile mind can be cultivated,
A community in which love can be propagated,
And the freedom to exist without being incarcerated.