A blackbird sits on top of a tree.

She watches but never talks.

Wise and smart

But none finds her beauty

She squawks

But none minds

They are too obsessed

Obsessed over love and gossip and anything scandalous

But the blackbird knows better.

She knows that no one will tell her the time of day

Because she is a bird

And birds don’t think,

They are born

They fly

They grow up

They chirp

Nothing else

She is a bird

But one of free nature

She refuses to be confined

Because in reality

She is no blackbird

She is not like everyone else

Because she does not see in black and white

She doesn’t see a face on a human

But every person that walks by is a shape and a color.

Green

Yellow

Red

Blue

Pink

Orange

Not a person

But a color

Not a figure

But a shape

Not a selfish, condescending, and destroyer of life

But a shape with morales

Or lack thereof.

She knows no one will tell her the time of day

But that is because she doesn’t do the same

She knows her boundaries

And she sticks to them

Once she is done looking down on the colorful shapes

She leaves, she has no longer has business there.