Broken-Winged Birds 

Looks like prose – reads like poetry – feels so much

PoetryofSL

I tore my chest open with my own bare hands, to let out all the deep breaths I’ve been holding. Hoping I could breathe again but my lips love the color blue. I cracked my ribs to get to my heart. I wanted to see the commotion of all the broken winged birds in there, but all their beaks are silent. They stopped singing or maybe they are ready to sing a song for someone else. It’s the same old tune here about how they want to fly away,but the tips of their wings are dried concrete from the time I built a wall around my heart. These knots in my stomach are never going to untie themselves. That’s what the birds are for. But they cannot save me anymore. It’s all me now, trying to breathe with this lump in my throat, trying to live through this feeling inside…

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