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If I were a lovebird
If I were a lovebird, I would write you songs and sing for you up in the trees. I would live for you, wake up every morning to see your face and hear your voice. If I were a lovebird, I would have brought you flowers for your anniversary and chocolate on your birthday. I would have showered you with gifts money could buy and smother you with kisses my mouth could afford. I would wake up one morning and take you places you never imagined or even thought. I would show you the world with its tall mountains and deep seas. I would have dragged you from your little rock and put you right in the middle of my fantasy. If I was a lovebird I would let you come with me to distant mountains away from everybody and everything. What would you lack? What more would you ask for? If I were a lovebird I would never have broken your heart and left you weeping all night. I would not have left you drenching in the rain full of longings and needs. I would have kissed your lips, not brush them with my fingers. I would have held your hand, not create distance between us, but you were a thorn in my flesh, a splinter in my eye. You were a sore thumb, a stink that I could not hide; a raw and reddened scar right on my face.
If I were a lovebird, I would have given you everything, but I am not a love bird. I have nothing to give but my disintegrating heart. I have nothing to offer but sweet words and empty actions. I am just a piece of land lying there plain and derelict. I am nothing but a neglected child in the heat of a merciless sun. If I were a lovebird, I would have fought for love, but have I ever known love? Have I even ever learnt to fight? I would have showed up at your doorstep with a bunch of flowers, but do I even know where you live? Who am I but just a cowardly child who cannot even call out your name? Who am I but that little boy who hides behind his fears and insecurities? Our love was a fruit plucked before it got to prime. It was a meal cooked over the smoke of wet wood, a product of hunger and desperation. It was milk from a heifer yet to calf. Our love was like seeds from a bull yet to come to age, the milk of infant corn.
If I were a lovebird, I would have flown up in the sky with you, but you refused to grow wings. If I were a lovebird I would have made us a nest and you would never have had to leave. I would have covered you with the warmest of feathers and feed you the fattest of grains. But I am not a lovebird, matter of fact I’m not even a bird. I am just a king, a king crowned with thorns and robes made of wet, stinking fur and a disintegrating sepulchre. My wings are clipped and my heart is in two. If only I were a lovebird...

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