Hello everyone! Here’s another poem about how trapped we are in cages we built ourselves. It’s inspired by a friend of mine.


I am trapped.
We all are.

I am a bird.
I have black feathers and brown eyes, a sharp beak, but my wings are weak.
Because I never flew.
I am caged by different layers of bars, I mostly set myself.

The smallest, coldest, darkest cage that is holding me back is insecurity.

My future is bright as the sun, clear as the sky. My future holds wind and blowing air, my future holds nests and fish and rain and thirst. My future holds life. My future holds a life I don’t seem to reach,
Because I’m caged.

Insecurity is a cage we set ourselves. Although we think it isn’t – it is.

The bars we think are made of stones are made of silk we stroke our heads on to, and
It feels so cold, yet soft enough to ignore the screams;
Oh little bird, caged are we
Our chirping vox is too lonely.
You sing and hit the notes all right,
Yet your shrill screams of fear of darkness aren’t loud enough to be heard by those;
The ones who tend to visit you with presents you see as sacrifices, but in reality
are blessings of mother nature in excess,
for you too.
And your yelling caged eyes with captived desires cannot show the longing of leaving, since we experience every visit they touch your feathers with like an emotion of nothing less than love and hapiness.

My bird, me and I you are
The same on the same page, the same stage, the same cage.

Freedom and power is the golden tool, the key glued on our handpalms, our feathers. But still,
We’re trapped.
We’re trapped;
seeing others flying around in the dreams we should be living,
‎the air we should be breathing and
‎the sunrays we can admire with more senses.
‎Yet we are too scared to rip some feathers off and start with a new skin, a new face. A new name?
Scared for the scars we have to face and look straight dead alive in the eyes, after falling down countless times each time we have, since we haven’t learned how to fly yet by ourselves in our new furry feathers.

What do I have my wings for if im not the one who flies?

The bars are set too high, we say. We can’t. We can’t.
We can’t.
We can’t –
We haven’t tried, but we know that the goal is higher than the bar itself. We don’t –
The safe space, the comfort zone is seen as a home for a creature, sculpted by the hands of God himself for what we stand for; freedom around the living wide world.
We are trapped and caged. By bars I’d call.. Fear.

But it’s the most beautiful birds who are the ones with the most scars on their wings. And their pride is their beauty, that beauty is their pride.
And they feared. The most.
They feared the colors they haven’t discovered, the cold of the wind on their cheeks. The wet rain flow down from their heads to their shoulders, to everywhere we didn’t know exited.
They feared by the scars that would be left under their feathers, permanently on their wings.
They were caged. Like us. But in three more layers. And More.

But you and I, are the same, with the same purpose to reach.
To look to the sky and inhale that there’s no limit.
To try to fall down and get up and fall more.
To escape, to bathe in a lake where my fur colors white again.

We are caged, we are trapped.
But our secret will not be kept.
We are trapped, we are caged;
We’ll fly until our final age.






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