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The Failure's Parents' Basement

I am in a cage

And I stay because I have no place else to go 

It is cramped but safe

 

I can't go anywhere else

Because I am not loved or wanted anywhere else

Only here in my cage

 

You would think, then,

that I would learn to love the cage

Since it is where I am wanted and safe

 

But I have not learned how to love the cage

I have learned how to hate 

I have learned how to hate my need to feel safe

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©24 January 2023 - 7:09pm — rachel
27 January 2023 - 6:28am — lyrycsyntyme
lyrycsyntyme's picture

A great write

All to often, we can fall into the despair of wanting to be loved where we aren't, wanting to pick the flower in the neighbor's garden. We might stomp through our own field of daisies and glue thorns on their stems, just to pretend they are violent roses in order to justify this desire. Often, I think, we are not even aware of this behavior in ourselves when it happens. At least for a time, till we truly, fully, understand appreciation. You captured the state prior, so well, I think.

24 January 2023 - 10:02pm — S74RW4RD
S74RW4RD's picture

You have described with

You have described with intense precision one of the seasons of my life---a time that began in Autumn, 1980, and lasted for a little over three years.  My heart goes out to anyone who has experienced something like this, be it for hours or for years.

Starward

24 January 2023 - 10:35pm — ewbonitz
ewbonitz's picture

My favorite poem is called

My favorite poem is called Caged Bird by Maya Angelou. I memorized it after a good friend of mine committed suicide in high school.

 

A free bird leaps
on the back of the wind   
and floats downstream   
till the current ends
and dips his wing
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.
 
But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and   
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.
 
The caged bird sings   
with a fearful trill   
of things unknown   
but longed for still   
and his tune is heard   
on the distant hill   
for the caged bird   
sings of freedom.
 
The free bird thinks of another breeze
and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn bright lawn
and he names the sky his own.
 
But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams   
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream   
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied   
so he opens his throat to sing.
 
The caged bird sings   
with a fearful trill   
of things unknown   
but longed for still   
and his tune is heard   
on the distant hill   
for the caged bird   
sings of freedom.
 
    You needn't love your cage, Rachel. There's little to love about feeling trapped and unwanted. But I hope you realize that even in just writing this poem you are learning to sing, in spite of the prison of your current circumstance. The free bird may seem happier, but the caged bird possesses a depth of perseverance that can only be discovered during times of immense loneliness. I hope as you continue to sing through the hatred, that you also learn to sing in love. Not just romantically of course, but an even greater love, a love for yourself and the song you sing while you're feeling trapped. You are good enough exactly as you are and you deserve to be told so. Every human being is valuable just because they exist and I pray that you learn to sing on these beautiful things during this season of temporal inprisonment. Keep on singing, caged bird, you will find freedom someday. All things are possible for those who believe.

"Paper is patient." - Anne Frank