The chicken that I am, poem (137/365)

The chicken that I am
I wants to tell him
That I am more
Then the farm
I grew up in
while my species might not fly
I do dream of flight
I might not be organic
But my feelings are not synthetic
The chicken that I am
Wants to tell him
To go get some ham
And spare my life
I have all these thoughts
And wants
And ideas
And sometime it feels
I feel like I am two halves of whole
Trying to reckon what’s makes me different
If we are all but legs, wings, and thighs
The chicken that I am
wants to tell him
That I am afraid to die
Be charbroiled, baked, or fried
Because I don’t know where chickens
Like me go
After the inevitable
We don’t get funerals
We get flushes
Not to cook me for dinner
Because I still have not lived yet
For I still have never
Had a friend or hen
Who made rooster calls bearable
The chicken that I am
Wants to tell him
That if today is the plan
Let me
go out
Being the best tasting chicken
I can
Season me good
I am courageous
And I stand with beak held high
But as I am only a chicken
Frankly he didn’t understand
It only comes out as clucking
But I know what I said
And here I stand
As the bravest chicken
In this whole coop

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