Bird Cage


49° 16' 8.1048" N, 123° 3' 24.7392" W


 know how the caged bird feels; 

A beast too beautiful, too simple to unlock 

The machine that confines it. 

Defines it.  Controls it. 

And it beats itself bloody, but it will never have 


No fingers or thumbs to work the latch. 

I have no hands, can’t work the latch 

Of this cage I have around my head. 

Around my heart.  Around my eyes. 

Cold bars and you can see me, 

But no one can touch me. 

I ache to stretch my wings – 

My small, dusty wings – 

But the structure is suffocating 

And I can’t feel to breathe. 

Breathe, open up, and fly. 

There is nowhere to go, it’s all so small. 

I look up to God. Bars. 

I look down to Earth. Bars. 

All around me are metal rods that shape me into  

What people see. 

What do I see? 

I see a girl, trapped in the contraption, 

With many misconceptions about 

Who she is, 

Because who can reach their highest altitude 

Without being let out of the birdcage?

Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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