like a chicken: cooped up

Cooped Up, like a chicken

That's sometimes how I feel.

Just plain and simple
Cooped up, like a chicken.

I can't possibly be
like a chicken
in a cowardly way,
because as
Cooped up, like a chicken
as I am
there is no place to go.

No where to wobble and cringe
recoiling in fear
as since I'm
Cooped up, like a chicken
the pen will keep me in here.

The eyes of people
will reap me of my privacy
exposed, like in a glass case
A transparent, thin yet impenetrable
Glass Case.

This firm case will enclose my feathers
Shake them off
Scared, frozen
Maybe not like a chicken
I will weep.

Under everyone's watch
my throat seems to tighten
Cooped up, like a chicken
has taken a toll on me
with suffocation.

Did you know a chicken can survive a limited amount of days headless?

Through the wires
of the pen
I attempt to wiggle
my way out.

It's useless though
as the farmer scoops
me back to rot and be
Cooped up, like a chicken
once again.

Flapping wings
that show no use
I gain only less than a foot.

Nature made me this way
Am I always so destined
to lose?

Cooped up, like a chicken
I gawked at others
but secretly wish
I were them

not
Cooped up, like a chicken
that will later become dinnertime's food.

Many sick chickens are slaughtered and eaten by by us first.

The farmer's steps
are heavy with weight
thundering as he approaches.

A great large shadow
is overhead and floats across the pen.

He unlatches the pen and gropes for
the ugliest
sickest
chicken
to be cooked.

Of course it's me.
I shout and scream
defying the fact, I’m
Cooped up, like a chicken.

Frighten by, the ugly shrill
He steps back.

I continue this horrid scene of me being
Cooped up, like a chicken
and try to escape by falling
to the hay-stack ground.

From there,
The farmer bends down
and once again does the similar routine
of scooping me back up to once again be
Cooped up, like a chicken
with no hope.

Yet no,
This shalln’t happen.

I flap my wings with force and strength
shedding the dirty feathers.

My chicken feet bloom
from repulsing sticks
to flesh and bone.

The dull beak that
once fed from animal fodder
has become tender
bright pink lips
soft to touch.

Finally broken up of my state of being
Cooped up, like a chicken
I give the audience
that once stared
an icy glare
from my deep brown eyes
no longer weak, self-conscious and beady.

I am no longer
Cooped up, like a chicken.

-lilxerica