The Canary’s Song
I was gifted today, Anon.
Gifted because Ringmaster says “bought” is too harsh.
I was a gift, he says, and he and I will be friends.
Partners who benefit each other.
I was given a home today, Anon.
Home because “cage” seems too prison-like.
And it is a home!
Food, drink, and limited space are a plenty.
There is no room for spoiled desires.
I was groomed today, Anon.
I say groomed because “stripped” is too cruel.
They plucked and primmed my plummage.
Pellets of blood peeked behind my feathers.
They draped red paint as part of my costume.
But I’m starting to think this whole think is a masquerade.
I was borrowed today, Anon.
Borrowed because that’s a nicer version of “bought”.
Ringmaster says he is borrowing my voice so as to help the both of us.
It seems, though, that he has borrowed it for a long time with no intention of returning.
People exchange paper slips to hear me sing.
So I am a bartered item.
I was loved today, Anon.
Loved because I’m not allowed to say “used”.
Ringmaster coaches me in song.
And when I can’t offer a note, I’m allowed no sustenance.
So I force myself to cry another.
And another.
And another.
The audience coos at me during the shows.
They toss meaningless items like flowers and stuffed animals
To show that they “love” me, he says.
Nothing that will fix my bleeding cords.
I was tired today, Anon.
“Broken” is too vulgar.
I fly around in an endless circle everyday, and
My wings are breaking.
But I must continue
The more I follow Ringmaster, the more he shows he loves me.
I died today, Anon.
It was heart failure.
