The cages I have lived in, have mostly been of my own making.
choking on self sabotage, self-destruction.
A degree not finished.
An emptied womb.
Boyfriends that troubled me.
Two bad marriages,
jails that encased my heart.
I can make a list.
The racism and discrimination of amerikkka
is a cage that I defy.
A constant battle of self-identity,
the right to spread my wings,
in freedom’s sigh.
I can make a list
of all the ways my color and sex get denied.
A racist phrase.
A lynching in disguise.
And when white folks say get over it,
and sanctimoniously roll their eyes.
When they say white privilege does not exist...
It’s then that
I know why the caged bird sings,
So you can’t hear it’s screams and cries.
Cotton fabric from Ghana and the U.S., vintage wood cage,found metal - street trash found in Syracuse, recycled wood from a neighbor’s renovation, acrylic paint, store bought nest, gourd, ink, photo transfers