You are of animal

There’s a bird park and animal sanctuary in the town where I live, called The World of Birds. I went to visit it one day, after a particularly frustrating day trying to untangle the knots in my mind; thoughts of my dislike of social media and my reason for being, the constant quest to find a purpose worth living for had become loud and unbearable. Something about the quest for freedom and feeling caged must have made me think of the bird park, and being a feather friend, I obliged the whisper from Other.

A few days after, my partner and I enjoyed the magic of mushroom tea in the mountains. This was the poem and chalk sketch that tumbled out of me that day.

In a world of birds

Bird box

A world of birds

Close to owl and water

Paint big

Paint what shakes

Paint the black woman in the red dress

Under falling oak leaves

You are of animal

You are bigger than all this

You are undefinable

Unplannable

You are not a calendar

You cannot schedule your real thoughts 

The stuff we really want others to hear

You are not instant

You are slow

You don’t unfold outward

You fold inward

Fold inward

Don’t speak

Don’t tell

Paint from your well

Don’t plan 

Don’t play along

The planning will kill your wild song

Birds

And feathers

Words and wild dresses

Wear your canvas

Feel your art

Connect with the real platforms

They’re Worlds apart

Lower

Middle 

Upper

The worlds that you are from

No insta tweeting face books here

Only slow birds facing spirit words

…

Something wants to shake loose…

Yet where’s it shaking from?

It’s not from me

Still …

In shaking it

I begin to feel free