the white bird - by slightly ajar - live in the kitchen

When I was a child,
I was a white bird – but I was caged.

One day escaped,
I shared the rich fruit of freedom,
with birds of more ordinary colours.

These were wise birds,
They believed I would not survive,
Outside of my cage,
So they pecked me – for my own good you understand,
Exposing my inner flesh, blood, despair,
White bird was dying.

Encased in new feathers,
I turned away I did not wish to see the pain,
Of the white bird,
Dying on the floor,
I returned to my cage – with my blind guards,
A brown and shaking creature,
And, no more was ever spoken of the white bird.