We All Know How the Canaries Die First

And if my body is a coal mine,

with rust in my jaw and dust settled in my lungs,

then my words are a canary.

On the worst nights,

I can feel it’s heart playing taps,

fashioning trumpets from my bones

to parade for a funeral on my tongue.

I've never known a slower death

than when the words they held back wilted

in their chests, trembling,

raining like echos

down every rib cage.

When they held the silence,

cramming songs down their throat

until their tongues stayed low,

and their teeth became gravestones.

They died with rust on their lips

because no one wanted to listen.

So how was I supposed to know

that the same night a mother went home

to a quiet house and a body

in the bathtub,

that same night

I was sitting in my room, cutting

my wrists and thinking,

“no one else feels like this”.

And how the hell was I supposed to know

that same night, a soul dove

off the Golden Gate Bridge, thinking,

“no one else feels like this”.

Because we lock their stories with

their bodies in crippled caskets

and the dirt that we bury them under

has never held a better kept secret.

But it’s only a secret

when we close our eyes.

We see it every day:

the girl with an empty plate,

the boy who flinches away

from your touch, the person

who carries a canary in their chest.

My throat has been stitched

closed by their silence.  It stretches

like rope binding my spine to the ground

my canary is drowning to the sound

of a thousand voiceless stories.

But I will make sure

she becomes a martyr.

I will wrench her feathers

from the barbed wire

in this world and I will build

my own wings.

I will wear the coal dust under my eyes like war paint.

I will wear my scars like bracelets around my wrists.

I will find the diamonds in the ruff,

and I will make damn sure they shine brighter

than any of the fires in these funeral pyres.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

"I will wear the coal dust under my eyes like war paint.
I will wear my scars like bracelets around my wrists.
I will find the diamonds in the ruff,
and I will make damn sure they shine brighter
than any of the fires in these funeral pyres."
The above lines could stand alone. You use words with skill. The type of poetry needed to be read and enjoyed. I like the ending. Your words are true. Must stay ahead of death and conflict. Thank you for sharing the excellent poetry.
Coyote

[Katherine Vice]

Those are some of my favorite lines as well, thanks!

[Coyote Poetry]

You are welcome.

[Eleanor]

This is outstanding.
Your use of metaphors is great.
We all think that no one else goes through what we do. We all keep dying inside and slowly end. If only we were able to express what's going on. We could all, save each other.
I loved the last paragraphs. How the poet , even if he/she wants it all to end, saved his/her respect. You showed the pride and good in even the "scars". They show that how much strong we are to survive so long!
Explains how he/she wants to show the world that even if they tried to break her, she would still leave a mark. She would show everyone her strength.
Great job! :)

[Katherine Vice]

It's so important for struggling people to know that other people feel this too, and I'm glad I could convey that. Thanks so much!