A poem

I started crying early in my office this morning as I wrote this poem. I guess I have been more hurt than I would ever care to acknowledge. I so want to be the image of this "female professional" I have in my head- persevering, determined, strong, unaffected, unwavering, un-needy.

Yet, I find myself more like a small child sometimes longing for a hug, wanting to know "everything will be ok" needing encouragement, nourishment, praise...

My family has never neglected me in this sense and for that, I am eternally grateful.

However, my 40 hour plus weeks at work have taken a bit of a toll- maybe more than I realized... I never really write poetry, though ideas come to me sometimes...since this one actually got written down, I just thought I'd share it.

A poem dedicated to all those that have ever been told they can’t or that their best effort wasn’t enough.

May we all be the teachers and mentors for others that we would long to have ourselves…


Clipped Wings

I came to you young and fresh, full of life
eager to learn
impatient to fly
I would do anything – I wanted to try

You heard me and saw me and let out a sigh…
You clipped my wings short and I tried not to cry
“Into the cage, little bird!” you said-
“It’s not your time. The light is still red.”

One day I was yanked from the cage and thrown out
Naïve as to what it would be all about
With no one to help me or teach me to fly, I raised my small wings
and I jumped
And I dived…

Still hurt from my fall, I heard you return,
But you’d not come to help
There were “lessons” to learn

“Dumb little bird! What makes you think you can fly?”
You clipped my wings shorter as a part of me died…
“You should have asked questions if you didn’t know how.
You’re a stupid little bird- back to the cage now!”

I tried very hard to be content in the cage
and pretend it was comfortable, as if I were on stage
But I wasn’t acting- this was my real life-
I made plans to escape, but they wouldn’t suffice…

Years later, you asked me why I never flew
The cage… the clipped wings- you already knew…

I came to you as a small baby bird,
with passion and promise and ideas not yet heard

You call yourself “teacher”
They think you are “wise”
Only the birds here can see your disguise

For true teachers know how to help others to learn
Your harsh words and scolding serve only to burn

True teachers know how to help those that try
And wise people know that caged birds cannot fly