THE CAGE

 At times, without choice, in rage, we cage parts of ourselves to conform, to survive.

My heart burns with shame

as I sit here trying to convince you that I’m worthy.

My face twists with bitterness,

as I weigh my options, and they come back to you.

Deep and heavy is the sigh that leaves my soul.

A growl escapes my lips, laden with helpless frustration.

My mouth curves in a silent plea.

The rage is there, blazing red; red;

my blood boils at the sight of my pitiful actions.

Left with nothing,

I curse your existence, and then mine.

I long to drag you down with me,

into this hell of discarded hopes and dreams.

Can you see it in my eyes, perhaps,

that you were never by choice?

This was always about my survival.

I was born caged by a world that favored you.

My salvation was always by your mercy.

Your scales would judge my adequacy.

Yet if my hands could,

they would wrap themselves around you;

they would squeeze until there was nothing left but my freedom.

But there is only you.

I can but stand here,

humble myself before your goodness,

and ask you to choose me,

that I’m good enough for you.