I can hear the song
and I can identify with the
situation.
In this new equation,
Now I know
why the caged bird sings.
Because in many way's I am the
bird, behind the gilded bars for
whom the bell rings.
Many times
I feel like Daniel in the
lion's den and I find my faith
being tested day by day
and limit to limit,
but here's the gimmick.
For a time the song that I sung while in
the cage was a song of imitation;
that allowed me to blend in with others
and not carve out my own station.
My infinity and entity
belonged to many
leaving me broke down, captive and often skinny.
I wallowed in self-pity.
Worried about, 'am I black enough?'
or 'man enought to fit your formula?'
Hurt and confused when i'm placed in your cages,
raped and tormented because of my blatant individuality.
Its like hiding my existence from reality
and only existing in my own personal fantasy.
That, or embracing the cold bars of a
cage that will hold an exhibit and inquisition
over my history, difference and position in this society and life.
As a cage bird, my masculinity is measured by how
many girls I d*** down while moving around;
not to mention the type of clothes I wear,
and the rinky-dink cliche's that float on the air; as well
as the other things that make a man, manly.
Plainly, I find myself never actually fittin in, but
existing somewhere in the outer-bounds of this reality.
A sort of gray area, respected a little bit but not entirely.
I'm locked even further into this cage of cold iron,
singing my song of sorrow lightly
Because daily i'm questioned about my tastes and sheer sexuality;
simply because this free-spirited bird doesn't fit in the role of a
constant in your Quadratic equality. Its a duality of **** and dirt in
the alley.
You try to determine and press upon me a name or catagory of your persuasion.
Am I not me? Can I not exist as I feel? Do I need you, to describe the 'I' in me to me?
You catagorize and stereotype my life in the vein you think I should be in,
never seeking but always assuming and calling me everything but a child of God; or at least his kin.
No one really realizes that this caged bird is in pain, sometimes full of shame, sorrow and despair.
The last phrases of my once-celebrated song disappears on the air.
But I'm still here.
Deep inside the cold cage, and standing outside looking in.
Shaking my head over and over again.
I digress.
Feeling segregated from my own people of color. In a culture that used to back each other up from sunrise to set.
Now you stamp me lower than dirt and instead, keep me as some mangy pet.
But a new sun has risen on the horizon
and I feel the chains of Shai-tan arising,
The door to this cage will soon open and i'll find myself shinning.
At that perfect place and time where nothing will matter not even
your rhythm or your rhyme.
It will be my time.
For this once caged bird to sing again a song of newly inspired
worth and freedom.
The kind that level's the old iron cage and enhances the 'I' in me, with God determining who i'll become.
This cage bird is free.
~Copyright 2004 Anno Domini/ "Earth's Sorrow Publishing"
~Earthly Allure
and I can identify with the
situation.
In this new equation,
Now I know
why the caged bird sings.
Because in many way's I am the
bird, behind the gilded bars for
whom the bell rings.
Many times
I feel like Daniel in the
lion's den and I find my faith
being tested day by day
and limit to limit,
but here's the gimmick.
For a time the song that I sung while in
the cage was a song of imitation;
that allowed me to blend in with others
and not carve out my own station.
My infinity and entity
belonged to many
leaving me broke down, captive and often skinny.
I wallowed in self-pity.
Worried about, 'am I black enough?'
or 'man enought to fit your formula?'
Hurt and confused when i'm placed in your cages,
raped and tormented because of my blatant individuality.
Its like hiding my existence from reality
and only existing in my own personal fantasy.
That, or embracing the cold bars of a
cage that will hold an exhibit and inquisition
over my history, difference and position in this society and life.
As a cage bird, my masculinity is measured by how
many girls I d*** down while moving around;
not to mention the type of clothes I wear,
and the rinky-dink cliche's that float on the air; as well
as the other things that make a man, manly.
Plainly, I find myself never actually fittin in, but
existing somewhere in the outer-bounds of this reality.
A sort of gray area, respected a little bit but not entirely.
I'm locked even further into this cage of cold iron,
singing my song of sorrow lightly
Because daily i'm questioned about my tastes and sheer sexuality;
simply because this free-spirited bird doesn't fit in the role of a
constant in your Quadratic equality. Its a duality of **** and dirt in
the alley.
You try to determine and press upon me a name or catagory of your persuasion.
Am I not me? Can I not exist as I feel? Do I need you, to describe the 'I' in me to me?
You catagorize and stereotype my life in the vein you think I should be in,
never seeking but always assuming and calling me everything but a child of God; or at least his kin.
No one really realizes that this caged bird is in pain, sometimes full of shame, sorrow and despair.
The last phrases of my once-celebrated song disappears on the air.
But I'm still here.
Deep inside the cold cage, and standing outside looking in.
Shaking my head over and over again.
I digress.
Feeling segregated from my own people of color. In a culture that used to back each other up from sunrise to set.
Now you stamp me lower than dirt and instead, keep me as some mangy pet.
But a new sun has risen on the horizon
and I feel the chains of Shai-tan arising,
The door to this cage will soon open and i'll find myself shinning.
At that perfect place and time where nothing will matter not even
your rhythm or your rhyme.
It will be my time.
For this once caged bird to sing again a song of newly inspired
worth and freedom.
The kind that level's the old iron cage and enhances the 'I' in me, with God determining who i'll become.
This cage bird is free.
~Copyright 2004 Anno Domini/ "Earth's Sorrow Publishing"
~Earthly Allure
... please make yourself at home ... 