a necessity of mine

It is when I
Stop writing that
Things get hard.
I write
Because I have to
Because if I didn’t
I would be a wounded
Bird
Hobbling through
The city
On the sidewalk
Between the legs
Of people who
Could care less
About my words
And which way
I organize sentences
They would notice
My small black feathers
And be transported to a
Time when animals were
Worshipped
Held above the human
Head in totem polls
Representing the true
Spirit of humbleness
A crow will eat a berry off
The tree of knowledge
Today
And I will
Write.