I got into a fight with her again.
She says this is all my fault, I start everything.
Does she know that she’s killing me on the inside?
I used to feel like a caged bird, slowly feeling everything coming down on me,
but now I feel like my wings have broken and my hope has failed.
I ran out,
Ran out of the house and into the world that was much too complicated for a sixteen year old,
but there I went to clear my head.
But mostly, I cried.
On my journey for peace in my heart,
I found a small bird laying in the sand.
It chirped and tried to hop away.
It hopped and only one wing flapped,
the other hung, limp on the side of its body.
It gave up within minutes and fell back down into the sand,
it’s little chest heaving up and down.
It knew it was going to die,
I knew it was going to die.
A broken winged bird can’t survive through the night.
And a girl with a broken heart can only last for so long.
Laying next to the broken bird,
Everything spilled out everything that laid trapped within me.
It chirped, but nothing more.
Hours passed and the tears finally dried up
and the bird was dead.
Quickly burying it,
I walked away.
And I knew I was that small bird,
A broken winged bird can’t last through the night
and neither can a broken hearted girl.
© Copyright 2016 Penelope Garenther. All rights reserved.