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It was the first time I held a blue bird in my grasp. At first I thought the blue bird was fake, Then I realized that it was real. And I held it in my grip, Afraid to let go. The feeling that I had was so wonderful, That I didn't want to lose it. But the more I wanted it, the more it faded away. Only to a feather that would scratch my skin And leave me with wounds.
Even those feelings that are good would leave a wound behind. Everything in my past would leave a wound on me, and they never healed. Every time I thought of them The wounds would open up. I had to heal over and over again. It was a never ending dream that I endured.
The blue bird was just another illusion. I thought it was a blue bird, But it wasn't. Instead it was a crow in disguise. Feelings you don't want you push away. You ignore it until you can't anymore. I did just that, because I didn't want to get hurt. I didn't want to cause any trouble... But I did... in the end.
The Bluebird
