I’ve been penned through winters and longed for June.

Wished for days that showed up as noons.

Crossed my heart and prayed under plenty full moons.

I know why the caged bird sings.

I’ve extended my wings, brutally blocked by the cage.

Then I did it again, each sting soothed my engulfing rage.

And again and again, nearly breaking a chain.

I know why the caged bird sings.

When I transferred the pain from my heart to my flesh,

I collapsed to the floor - having nothing else left.

A vibration emerged with each passing of my breath.

I know why the caged bird sings.

The song was always well-written, and the hymn rang loud.

Emergent and true, for the first time I’m proud.

Pitches bounced off the bars, and the pain was now shroud.

I know why the caged bird sings.

For the songs in my heart and the wounds I have healed,

I only know power through what my voice can reveal.

To some, it is gospel, and to others is shrill.

I know why the caged bird sings.