it’s the old ways in which you manipulate that give me pause and contemplation to gather up my things and flee the scene by not hanging on your every word it frees the caged bird who clings like vipers to your broken wings sucking the blue pigment from your pin feathers an obscene loss of blues/ blood/ life draining you/ I fly free to freedom without cause or condemnation to ruminate on the whys or hows of the awakening.
©Jay Mora-Shihadeh
Photo by Zac Durant on Unsplash
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