I’ll believe it all

“And to the young ravens who cry…”

I would like very much to know what it would be like if I could be a bird. The beauty and mystery behind the ability to be tweeting with one bird and to suddenly fly and leave like it was the easiest thing. No attachments, no commitments, just beautiful birds in flight, enjoying the large open sky and endless ocean. 

I find it amazing that even these small animals are taken care of and have no teenage angst or work life stresses. 

These birds are completely dependent on some way of getting food that day. 

Yet we, who live in the wealthiest country in the history of man, worry about if we let in the “immigrants” that we will not be able to provide for our families. 

I don’t understand this. Call me a minimalist, an idealist, and a purist for the rest of my days, but I will never understand the decision to uphold ideas rather than protect innocent people. 

Trust and depend. Do not blame those who cannot help how or where they were born for your own insecurities and worries. 

I’ll believe it all
I won’t let go of your hand

Two birds of a feather
Say that they’re always gonna stay together

But one is never going to let go of that wire. 

And he is a liar. 

 

Dynamic Changes of Leaving

I greatly admire birds, as my posts suggest. I often visualize myself as a bird chained to a specific spot, unable to spread her beautiful wings and leave as gracefully as she came. The thing with birds my romantic view refuses to think about is the fact that while they are free to come and go, they hardly ever stay. The constant shift in coming and going means no connections, no personal ties forever. While in a way this sounds appealing, it only sounds appealing in the idealist sense. I have made ties and to break away and leave would mean to completely abandon it all and migrate away to someplace new, with it’s own chains and cages ready to trap me again. Is that really what I want? In some relationships, yes. I cannot wait to leave in some instances. Yet the pragmatist in me can’t help but realize that leaving is not as freeing as it seems to be. One cannot just leave because they believe someplace else will be better, prettier, bolder, and bigger. While I still imagine my wings coming out and my confidence shining as I go to make something of myself, I will not sit by and use the future as an escape from the present. When I stop staring at clouds and daydreaming of places and things and people I’ve never met or seen, I find my home in people here and now. I find my joy in the smallest places and things and people. So yes, I am bird ready to fly away, but for now I guess I’ll be content to stay.

Best of Both Worlds

On the very brink of reality,

Hanging on the edge of safety,

Tweet, tweet, tweeting up, up high,

The in and out breaths, the deep sigh,

To jump or hop back to the nest?

To fly and be free, or to be safe, called the best?

Either way I take a risk as a small little bird, a baby,

I never asked you to be my superman, to try and save me,

Yet here you are, coming to my rescue, holding tightly,

I used to shy away and run from this, seemingly brightly,

But somehow I’ve changed and become okay with being saved,

I’m tired of running in this infinity circle; sick of being chased.

I was under the impression if you were committed, you had lost,

I suppose my mind’s been changed, or maybe I’ve gone soft.

I used to believe a lot of things, yet they seem not to apply,

You’ve both freed this bird and made her say hello instead of bye,

I no longer feel like a loser for being committed, it just can’t be true.

I guess the truth is I’m only okay with ‘losing’ if losing means winning you.

Striking Out

There once was a little bird who was born in a nest. It was a nice nest, as far as nests go. The problem the little bird had with the nest was the fact that someone else had made the nest; she had not made it her own, therefore she simply could not call it home.

So the little bird walked to the edge of the nest and looked down, something you should never do. But even though the little bird saw all the limbs and branches in her way, she knew sometimes you’ve gotta fall before you fly.

The bird jumped and down she fell, hitting branch after branch. After a few more of such falls, she flew more and more. Even though she wouldn’t fly very far and she often fell, she was on her way to her own Great Perhaps.

Finally, she made it to her own tree, and built her own little nest. She met a young bird and fell in love. While she slept by his side one night, she looked around at the nest and realized how similar it was to her childhood home. This realization baffled her since she had worked so hard to find her own place.

The point, she concluded, was not that she had her own place, a home, or that she had been somewhere new, but that as she fought to get here she became a little fighter, and she became her.

Locked Up

You watch me walk and dance and laugh, thinking how lovely and free

Every person seems so until you dig a little, until you really see,

I can’t be called lovely for I’m always thrown underneath the bus,

And truly I tell you, I can’t be free, for we carry our prisons with us.