The Caged Bird

People have been desensitized to the point that hearing about these kinds of things on the news don’t really affect them anymore, and that’s really freaking heartbreaking. The Sandy Hook shooting received a huge amount of coverage and media, but as all of these school shootings continued, their amount of coverage has slowly been dwindling. and though we can all blame media, it’s because of us. News outlets cater to the what the people want; shootings became so common that the people were no longer intrigued. I’m horrified at how desensitized we as a society have become— how desensitized that I have become. 

This past weekend was awful. It was the first time that a murder had actually gotten to me. I was upset for the majority of the weekend, and I still am. I have had almost no outlet for my frustration. I have a twitter in which I tweeted a few of my opinions, but I always end up more upset because I know that the majority of my friends aren’t as angry about the situation as I feel like they should be. How could you not be furious? 

I don’t have a lot of friends that I can talk about this to, because again the majority of them aren’t as angry as I am. When attempting to discuss anything, I’m often met with eye rolls, averted eye contact, or nodding as if to try and dissuade me from talking anymore. I am thankful for the three people that seem to understand how I feel towards everything, but three of the however many people that I socialize with is an incredulously small number.

As a result of all of this, here I am. Ranting on a blog that nobody knows about, angrily typing at a deaf audience. That’s how I feel nowadays. That all of the protest and anger and “standing up” is landing on deaf ears. It’s difficult to deal with; I’ve felt hopeless for a couple of days, seriously questioning if my advocacy even means anything. But with the death of Maya Angelou yesterday, her famous poem reappeared, restoring some of my faith in my morals.

It has been a tough week, a tough month, a tough year, and it will be a tough life. I am so gracious to be blessed with everything that I have, and I take no hesitation in showing my gratitude to those that deserve it. It is going to be a tough life regardless of my future career, family, whatever, because I know that I will be a fighter. When being a fighter goes out of fashion, and when the frenzy dies out, I will still be standing. I will hold my fist high, with pen clenched in hand, at the front of the line. And I will fight.

—

The free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wings
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings
with fearful trill
of the things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom

The free bird thinks of another breeze
and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn
and he names the sky his own.

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing

The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.