Subscribe today and never miss a recipe!

“you’re Not Really you.”

She masters her cage.

She masters her cage.

There was a poem throwing itself around in my blood.

Something about a bird and a cage.

Ah, yes! Don’t they all work birds into their masterpieces, their sonnets?

I don’t care. Sometimes a poem finds you out and it’s about something borrowed, something blue. Perhaps we should hand the skepticism of our own minds over to the depleting work of rigor mortis. Just be honest. Just write.

I told her she was free.
Re-mastered the lock, dissolved the key.

“Don’t be stubborn, you’ve not had a good home.”
Her heart kept a boring tempo – an unkempt metronome.

Occupy the space in the sky!
I’m giving you a voice, another try.
Lift yrslf with the flaking dead skin.
Transcend the roof of my home. Be bold – know no whim.

She shuffles her claws in linear motion.
Neither phased nor impressed with my clean notion.
Opens her cracked beak
And violently speaks,

“I’ve only known this rusted tin and you, always watching me.
Now you loftily proclaim I’m released from gravity?”

In an attempt to explain,
“Bird of my house, don’t be alarmed. I bring wisdom from above.
This is not some trick, this is love.”

Then the cage dissipates.
The bird gone, a fake.

A Voice deep inside,
“That bird is not real, the bird is a lie.
In her parables you hide.
In her bleak feathers you confide.”

“You march around, so confidently.
You search for your cage. You seek modestly.”

“Child! You have wings yet you stumble on feet.
Woman! The cage was never your home. You live in me.”

“I bring bright shiny lights from above.
This is no trick. I am Love.”

“In the backdoors and attics of your mind you retreat.
But open your veins, accept a new beat.
You know my voice
You are my sheep.”

“Call me your Love. I’m not just some Sir.
You are beautiful. You’re not just some bird.”


Eh, well…my words, unfettered. Amateur, I know. But I was honest.

Sometimes late at night I go to sleep and think about how much of me I didn’t let be me and how much of me I let Him release. He kisses my cheek, whispers me to sleep, “Freedom you’re given. My daughter, you’ve been set free.”

Add a comment...

Your email is never published or shared. Required fields are marked *

  • MarynOctober 14, 2009 - 7:18 am
    you are quite ridiculous brianne, and i mean that in the best way. you are out of control. i'm posting this poem on my blog because i love it THAT much!!! : )


  • hannahOctober 14, 2009 - 8:28 am


  • SarahOctober 14, 2009 - 11:47 am
    every time i read your blog, i feel the need to write down quotes.


  • BeckyOctober 14, 2009 - 3:34 pm
    This is awesome. I love it! I've always been intrigued by people who write poetry.


  • JeremyFebruary 1, 2010 - 6:40 pm
    The only words I can muster: "Last Three Sentences = Genius" ...I think I am like you...


hello love...

Welcome! I'm Bri! Accidental home cook. Lover of gathering people around a table over a meal. Author of Come & Eat (September 2017). What I really want is to pull out a chair for you at my table. But until then, I hope you stay awhile and enjoy my stories + recipes! 

Read Our Story Here ...

Let’s Connect

Learn More!