There is a bird inside my chest.A hawk in a parakeet cage.
He is trapped in there together with all the bird-related cliches and idioms ever invented.
He is broken into unnatural angles.
Beating, beating.
Railing against my rib cage.
Nothing will soothe him except his being obvious to everyone.
Look at these ratty feathers, these beady eyes.
Look at these ravaged wings and their reflex for flight
that has become only a painful scraping.
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