Poetry

His words were his weapons
To capture me
The imperfect Blue Jay
His words
Shot me down like arrows
And set my soul on fire


Flapping my wings helplessly
Through the dead air
Falling to the unforgiving dirt
Flightless


I lay there in the cold dirt
Now my prison
My heart bleeding




He twists his arrow of words into my heart
To make sure I’ve died
I peer up at him
He’s a sad boy  
With a mouth But no eyes


He says he hates Blue Jays with gilded wings
He may have words
But I have strength  



The fire continues to burn within me
Pain has melted
And anger is born
 
I gain my strength to fly up to him
I claw at his lips
Until they bleed
Oh how the tables have turned
Now who's the prey
It’s been him all along


The one who throws arrows
At imperfect creatures
Is the weakest one of all.