How we talk

The crow always speaks wrong.

And it hurts.

A tingle from the body that won't go away till the crow makes a cut.

Though the crow can't cut

It Tried

Still can't

Because the crow hurts even more

Because it's smart

Because it's stupid

Because it's smart

Because it's weak

Because it's smart

Shame that negative outweighs the positive

The crow can't think this day.

Not that It ever could.

The crow wants to explode

But the black powder within never goes off

It burns,

High and hot,

But never leaves the container.

The crow wants to tell you that it hurts.

But it won't

Because it'd hurt you more,

Your hurt,

Hurts the crow.

You think "How compassionate!"

"How caring!"

But no

It is only selfishness

Because the crow just doesn't want to get hurt.

Like the caw of the crow that's never menacing,

To the ear of one that loves all nature.

It's annoying

But you,

The nature lover,

Wait till the bitter end till it leaves

Or you finally break.

The crow will always caw till it's told not to

The crow never understands the obvious reasons for your displeasure

Because you are human

And the crow

Is obviously

Just a crow.

But like you the crow feels.

And to make you feel better in your distress,

The crow will sing

Like the nightingale does.

A crow is not a nightingale

Therefore, cannot sing

But still the crow sings

Badly,

Making this nature lover

Hurt more,

And more.

The crow knows it can hurt others easily by singing

So it stays quiet,

For long periods of time

An unhealthy amount of long time.

But you;

Being the one that loves all regardless of anything,

Loves the crow

Always has

So the crow tends to sing to you

Even though it can't sing the right notes.

But you,

Tire of the crows caws.

They insult you,

With sharp pricks,

From soft intentions.

You know how the crow speaks

But this song,

This one song;

Which the crow sings,

Hurts you more than other songs.

But the crow continues to sing

To try and fix the notes,

That have already been sung.

You the lover of all

Would never try to stop the crow

From being anything that it is;

Which is

A crow.

But others,

Who hear the loud crow's song

Tell the crow of its mistakes

Tell the crow of its entire wrong doings

Showing the crow,

How its pure song

Had been twisted by the wrong notes it sang.

The crow will then be silent.

For it had made the one who listened

Hurt.

If you ask the crow if it was hurt

The crow would shake its head,

And would never caw an answer.

Ask once again in five minutes,

And the crow would happily caw again for you.

But the crows songs to you now,

Would never be the same.

They'd be confusing

Have no beat or rhythm like the song with wrong notes.

They'd be slow,

Tentative.

For the crow will continue to over think

The notes it shall sing for you,

To make sure that the wrong notes

That it cannot avoid

Will not hurt you.

We talk like this.

How I tell you that this crow; in summary, doesn't like to share its feelings

Or maybe it that it can't share its feelings.

But you would never know

For you are not a crow.

And you think to yourself,

"But I understand"

But you don't

Not completely

Because you are not thee crow.

The crow in the story.

You'd say

"But that's you"

But it's not.

How would you know if it is.

All you know

Is whether or not you are the crow.

If I was the crow,

I'd have contradicted myself

Saying I don't like to share my feelings,

When this story

Clearly described my feelings.

Or did it?

Was it the crow being described?

Or was it myself?

I wouldn't know those things if I wasn't the crow.

But why would I say the crow? Instead of I?

Am I the crow?

Or

Is the crow me?

The crow is the crow.

And I, being me

Is obviously

Just me.

And I'll say with a grin

That I'm a little like the crow.

Aren't I?