Oh’er Raven, your black feathers
Like faux leather
Your sharp beak
Red and bleak
Follow me by day
When I sleep
Come around when I am weak
Mock my efforts
Lurking around corners
Yet, I need you
I can not finish because
You won’t diminish.
I am in a box. I cant breath. If I stay in here, I’ll die. I don’t want to die. But I cant escape. Trust me, I don’t want to die. But I’ll die in this box. How did I get here? What did I do to deserve this. I know I’m not this flawed. It cant be just me. I am not crazy! Its you. Why did you put me in this box? I was a nice girl. A small girl. Innocent at best. How did I fall into your tar pit trap. Your going to kill this butterfly, kill it. And I bet you wont even look down to see what you have done. No, you will wipe me off on the pockets of your pant. Like you would a bread crumb.
Your killing me like a cancer. Slowly I am weakening. My skin melting from my bones. My hair, brittle and dry. My eyes, ‘or these beautiful eyes, sinking. Sinking like a glorious ship with a destiny.
I am in a box. I cant breath. If I stay in here, I’ll die. I don’t want to die. But I cant escape. Trust me, I don’t want to die.
Being looked at as if I’m expected to speak, always know the answer, to entertain a subject is something I have never been fond of. Maybe this sounds silly but, I have always wished to be a statue.
We admire statues. We fear statues. Statues are mysterious. Why is it here? Who made it? Is there a story behind those stone surroundings? You can ask yourself all of these things…but you can not always have the answers. I relate myself to this because I’d rather go the rest of my life being occasionally gazed upon, perhaps admired, asked no questions, and be moved on from. Truly this isn’t stemming from pessimism. But remaining a closed book; a mysterious widow to those on the outside of my mind would be personally soothing to my soul.
Behind closed doors, I am a bird of many a flights. Always changing my direction. My feathers may shed into majestic colors of an emerald sky (ha) or maybe I am dull as the crows squalling in the morning sun. I will never be predictable, I will let you down, I will be your best friend, and sometimes I wont be there at all. I don’t want to hurt you…I couldn’t wish hurt upon even great enemies. I believe if I am left but a statue mounted on a corner, then I can not be harmed. Nor can I harm you. So bring on the acid rains that may harden around the outside in which you see. The bird I am on the inside…will always be.