Bluebirds

Some people are cages
Some cages are home.
An embrace that felt like a sentence,
The gritty, metallic taste of remembering
Peeling off my lips.

This isn’t Stockholm syndrome-
It’s a lifetime of optimistic wandering
Through prison cells and barbed wire.

God loved the bluebirds
And on the fourth day gave them trees.

Man loved the bluebirds
And gave them metal crates
With mirrors

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