Gilded

I know I am but a bird in a glided cage.

Surrounded by bobbles and shiny distraction to make me forget this is not my home.

Wings clipped, i can no longer fly on the wind that once took me to each new adventure.

My view, through bars, but if I get close enough I can pretend I am out in the open wild and warmed by the sun.

I am trapped in a space bought just to keep me shut off from prying eyes… when I am lucid it all comes crashing in.

In quiet moments when left to my own thoughts… I am reminded, I am still a prisoner.

You take me out of this cage only to show off you pretty bird and quickly, like a selfish child, become angry if that bird gets too much attention from others.

If only I could always remember…

I’m a prisoner.

One you would euthanize long before letting another look after me.

Not that I have ever needed looking after…

When I was young, I would have thought this to be beyond luck:

to be the bird in a glided cage.

No more bruises, no more aged hands that clawed at youthful skin.

So I resign myself most days to being grateful, to remind myself of where I came from.

I suppose it’s not so bad, considering…