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I know why the caged bird sings.

It's not because his song
is as vibrant
as his feathers, that he plucks away
each day because he doesn't
feel beautiful.

It's not because of the majesty
that exist in the freedom
of being able to spread his wings
though he knows
he'll never rise to the occasion.

He sings because he believes
that this cage
was made for a king
because he has never tasted
freedom with a side order of skies.

He's never flown past the sun
on a cool morning
or hung with the moon
on a warm night.

He's only ever known
the comfort of a prison
that his thoughts have
become accustomed
to calling home.

He would never venture
beyond the "welcome" mat
because what's beyond the threshold
holds no promise
the way these bars and metal locks do.

He sings because he knows
that no one is listening
so if he makes a mistake
he doesn't have to live with the regret
or embarrassment of knowing that he missed his note.

The caged bird
never believes that he's caged
because behind these walls
he's safe
and he prefers it this way.

I know why the caged bird sings.
A twist on a title by one of my favorite authors...
The only French I speak,
I learned
from the
uncrossable space
in bed

You.

Me.

I learned it
when we started
to just say bye
in the mornings

When we stopped
hugging after
work,

When I was too busy
playing games,
watching Netflix,
on my phone,

and you had already cleaned
the kitchen, put away the laundry,

You wanted something
you won't take now
because I wasn't too busy and I don't even play that game anymore, and I can't remember the shows but I'm sure they are still on Netflix,
and phones will always be a distraction from people to put everything down and take off the masks
we make so we can breathe
every day and connect as people. In those moments, I started missing you and you were already missing me. I just really wish I could stop going Supernova but there's a slowly swirling marble rock ball that's slowly making its way from sitting in fire of the pits of my stomach,

rolling up my chest, bouncing off ribs, escaping to the small of my back, rolling up my spine, spinning
counter clockwise
in figure eights
across my shoulder blades until it sits over my heart and sinks to my
Stomach
Again.

Now I've lost form and more and I really just need to get my

**** together and restart.

Look at what you've done
to my poetry.

BG-4/10/17
I.
You always knew
the lies I've taught myself to believe
would never be good enough for him

We have the same smile
he is the last angel that can save
me

Love, I have no easy answers for you
I bury questions with every poem
but there is never enough dirt.

The ugliness behind our
pretty faces

burns holes
in the soul

and that's the first poem
I wrote about you that
wish I could burn
because I see myself
in your eyes and I wish
I could disappear from
the mirror

I don't
hate you.

I can't.

I
won't.

II.
my sweet Ollie,

your face looks like mine
you can see it in the eyes
especially when you smile

Have you discovered
children have a way
of noticing things
that are there,

seeing shapes
and shadows
that aren't?

There are monsters in the dark
but do not be afraid
I am there too.

I thought I
past the would,
could, should be

but there are no stars
in the sky and these
gnarled branches
won't give me release

and the future is the same as it always was

some things
cannot be hidden
cannot be undone
cannot be found
cannot be repaired

If I could still believe
in God and say a prayer
I would ask that he would read
these words you can't see yet

whisper them into your ear
so that with every heart beat
you have an answer for why we're
here

and one day
when you read this

know that I loved you
know that I missed you

There is still sunshine longing
to kiss your forehead

Don't sleep
until the day
is yours
and only yours.

My son, trust me
when I tell you,
there is nothing to fear
in the dark.

Fear the Heart.

BG-4/11/17
Dirt under my nails
From trying to bail
out on reality
The night before.
Shakes, spins, sweats,
and I can't wrap my head
around the kind of self sabotage this is. If it's not helping me, it's hurting me.
If you're ignoring me,
don't think I won't leave
because I will.
My footsteps are heavy
and slow;
steady
I know.
but I have come a long way
plenty of suns before.
there is no way to go
that is too far.
no companion
that tries too hard
And nothing that grounds me more,
Than love.
I want to cultivate my being so bad,
Exponentially expand.
I want to maintain this cultivation,
And refrain from all the circumstances that make me sad.
I want to stand taller than anyone else thinks I can.
My resilience is infinite,
A uniqueness,
Like the swirls in your fingerprints and all the grains of sand.
My sadness is a part of me,
I don't owe an explanation,
When I need to be.
And when they don't understand,
I will know no one can, like I can.
No one will embrace my heart,
With tender hands, Like I can.
I am my own, standing loud,
barely breathing a word.
I am my own, and any defeat I face
is not my death; but my birth.
Blind
But still so receptive
To her negativity
Shut her out
I try
But she understands
Or so she says
Siren
Bloodletting for her love
Even if it isn't real
Help
I'll see this when I'm sober and probably delete it
I like to pretend I'm in love
So I can feel like myself again
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