Where would you go?
The forest isn’t your home.
You’ve been caged for so long—
the tree roots will be your grave.
You won't even touch any branch.
Though I know you can go high,
in the forest
only what is truly avian
can fly.
You, little one, are no avian.
You never were.
Much less a bird.
You are a pet.
A pet in her tiny little cage.
This whole thing is your world,
your home.
Nothing else.
And no buts.
I say this to you because
I want you to live a long life.
Consider this advice:
You are no slave.
You are a pet—
a tragic part of a family,
but still, you are.
Love your life.
Love your owner.
Outside here,
you are food.
Remember that.
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