Birds are the only things of magic left in this world, To transcend the shackles of men. I want to be the magic that flies above all the different ways men encase their souls…I want to be as wild flowers that in bold yellows grow over and in between defunct prison bars and crevices of once prison walls now gardens and laugh at the absurd concept of men in chains. But still, I want to be human enough to every day peer in the warmth of your eyes and feel our shared humanity. I want to love you in all the myriad flawed but beautiful ways only humans can. And yet, This would be my eventual downfall to mortal chains again.