there is a birdcage where i know my heart should be

I am so unabashedly entranced with a covet for release

This pining that seems to crawl and gnash itself between my ribs

strangles this small heart that tends to skip beats

I crave to fold into a divine congruency within myself,

to understand why my mind doesnt condemn itself to obedience

in the same way my organs do

I want to know that i am worthy of this struggle

yet i continue to entangle myself in this endeavor of doubt and intimidation.

though i seldom admit this, and i know i am not unique in this mindset,

I crave solace i may partake in,

with blood i so hesitantly exude

or the reassurance that my heart will remain captive within myself

as a small bird, not entirely eager to flutter or fall

i could just as easily release it from its confines,

but where would that leave the rest of my body.

An empty little thing with a bit too much freedom

Or more so that same pining

a longing to grasp why i cannot bleed for better reasons

It becomes more apparent that these heartaches are rather self-inflicted

i glance at mirrors, glimpsing the shadow of my own hands

tracing the concaves of my chest

Though i am lucid, i let the hands bleed into me.

The reflection delves into a bitter embrace,

sweeping the heart i had so tenderly locked away

as vivid as the tendrils and passion of an ignorant snake

The head of the sparrow bulges from the shadows palm

the bird sulks into its fingers, frail body kissing diluted skin

Unapologetically, the reflection remains a temporary mass of gentle horror

it is pain, it is absence. it is vividness all at once.

its shape seeps back into me

confining itself to rest within the void that was once a weeping heart.

An attempt to console the languishing hole that is now my upper body.