Do you know what it feels like sometimes to think through all the people you know and feel like theres nothing you can say, or nothing you want to say to almost all of them? And the only ones you want to have anything to say either don't want to talk to you or are dealing with their own problems enough that you don't want to disturb them?
Yeah.
Well. Sometimes I don't know if its because I'm messed up or something. If I'm really that difficult to talk to, or with. Because sometimes it feels like out of everything He made, I had to be the weird one. The nail that stuck out. The oddball. The freak. The outsider.
Or something.
Sometimes I feel like a bird. A featherless bird. In a cage. And all the people walk by and stare at me, with the weird pimply skin that fledglings posses. And they stare at my head; too huge for my body, with my bulbous eyes half closed.
And I don't know who built the cage, the world or I.
I could have easily done it. To keep within, and to do without. But I know the key is somewhere else. Maybe I've locked it away. Maybe they've kept it from me. No. I know I hold my own key.
Maybe I've eaten it.
And I don't know if I want to vomit it back out, because I don't know if getting out if here will be worth the effort. All change is contested, my own included. I built the walls to keep out, and when the war was over I took it down slowly brick by brick, then wall by wall. But I went to fast and took out the foundations too. And now, without my feathers I can't fly over the moat.
So I guess now I'm still stuck here. And the people are still staring at me.
Now I am shelterless.
No matter. The flowers of the field are clothed so beautifully. How much more will I be. Even the most hideous worm is fed, freely and fully. How much more I will be.
And the birds. What songs they sing to be loved and to love.
No man has heard me sing.
No man has seen my feathers.
How much more, how much more I shall be.
Labels: Upward Over the Mountain - Iron and Wine.
