I am a bird who anxiously picks at her feathers

.

.

.

.

I am a bird who anxiously picks at her feathers


Until I am naked and bare and weathered


An act vainful to no avail at its worst and vulnerable at showman’s best


I frequent all around this spectrum like electrons in atoms not getting to rest 

I am a bird with feathers like treasures


I did love the emerald but it weighs and cloaks my come-and-go stressors 

And the sharp frequency which my gems can swing between


forges a fierce electricity sometimes too much for me


So I anxiously pick at my gems when I am pressured

and weathered 

I find myself in high measures and succumb in being pressured 

I pick off my heavy emerald gems


I don’t understand


I know my emerald color is my measured treasure 

I know gems like these present from being stressed

or being hard-pressed

I know it all is measured
 and treasured

All when

my process

is cloaked in

sheer darkness 

An act vainful for your avail

the Arbiter of my veins

so swing to over-fill them with duress

pressure polishes

my emerald dress


hurry, cloak it

in lab created darkness 

Black firework frequencies

weathering me


I know are overwhelming

my gem-like feathers


For me to pluck at again even though I know they should be treasured