With Good Mental Health I have space and slience, space to speak my truth:


Let the rarer birds sing their song
Crows, move aside
Be still awhile; your squawking pains my ears  
And crowds my view
Give others space up there,
Space. And silence.
Those little ones are already trapped,
Distressed, cacophony
There is no need to clip their wings,
Just let them breathe
Take flight, and sing. 
Listen. Listen carefully
Their tune is soft,
Their melody is beauty,
Fleeting, but forever echoes