Am I just a broken bird?
Something to collect
something to protect
something to mend?
What if I lost a wing
or a leg
or my beak broke.
How far would you go
to save me?
Why would you save me?
Maybe I injured myself,
threw myself from the tree.
I wanted to hit the ground.
I wanted to hurt.
Hurt so much the
pain of a lost wing
would make me forget
about the lost leg.
Starving from a broken
beak
wouldn’t matter then.
Could you blame me
if I was mad
for you saving me.
It wasn’t right.
It upset the natural order of things.
I was meant to stay broken.
narrative
