This is my eighteenth day here.
A place meant to look like my home but it’s not even close.
It is fake compared to home.
My freedom did stretch beyond what my eyes could see.
I? now look to my left, and look to my right,
and see where it ends.
People look at me with faces of curiosity.
They see my face but not my resentment.
Unwillingly thrown in here, I am like a domesticated pet,
fed like someone spoon feeding a baby,
checked on like a sick grandmother and
kept like I am owned.
Thick, steel bars stand in front of me like my intentions are to flee.
Who wouldn’t want to run away
when the sound of faint conversations
is nothing compared to the singing of birds at home.
I serve my purpose as a means of gaining their capital
and pleasing their eyes.
The humans do not see past their greed to realize
they hold my freedom ever so selfishly.
I am helpless.
The Imprisoned Wild
January 16, 2018