Held

I don’t want to be held in a cage, but I’m already there.

I was born into a cage.

Where is the greatness promised to me as a child?

Future is present’s imagination.

My sandals ridicule me.

My mind hates its prison, but loves itself.

Wheels scratch about as the chirps turn into whistles in the
newly witnessed rotation.

Orange peeled walls, baby blue in color, transform into cream colored cinder block.

I did her.

Now she does me.

Some say time.

My mind says events.

They’re just events.

Inexhaustible to remarkable extents.

God, was I kicked out or was I sent?

 

Todays best new poem was written by Marcos.