Little Bird and Her Gilded Cage


Little bird, little bird.
You grew wings before my eyes, while I stayed stagnant. I saw the dreams flowing in your blood, and the determination growing in your bones. Nothing could keep you grounded, not even me.

Little bird, little bird.
I watched you take off, flapping up and up. The shape of you receding until you were hardly visible, just a speck in the sky. The farther you got, the worse I felt, a pit lodged in my stomach.

Little bird, little bird.
I waited for you to return, but alas, you did not. I told myself you grew lost, utterly turned around in that big world out there because I could not face the truth of you choosing never to return, back to me.

Little bird, little bird.
I am not mad at you for wanting to see the world, to float above it all in awe and explore with curiosity. I am simply disappointed you never taught me to fly so we could have soared away together.

Gilded cage, gilded cage.
You kept me locked up, and put away from the world. A treasure for you and no one else, claustrophobia squeezed at my lungs, until I only wanted to thrash about, doing anything to break free.

Gilded cage, gilded cage.
Even when I was learning to fly, I felt you tugging me back, like a steel chain spanned my neck, digging into my flesh, yanking me backwards. I fought to escape the weight that kept me grounded.

Gilded cage, gilded cage.
I taught myself to fly. I had tasted freedom, and returning to hardly existing, in a cage no matter how prettily disguised, would’ve been my end. I would’ve suffocated under the confinement, don’t you realize?

Gilded cage, gilded cage.
I am not mad at you for trapping me like you did, wanting me for yourself. I am simply disappointed you never understood what independence meant to a little bird trapped for too long. Everything.

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