13 years ago on my first anniversary of incarceration, I walked into a rectangular concrete yard with high walls. No one was there except a pigeon with a broken wing. It was in a state of absolute panic. Every time it launched itself to fly, it would crash into the wall, fall to the ground, and then try again… and again… and again. I then noticed that there were breadcrumbs all around it, and yet it completely ignored them.
At this moment I thought to myself:
“Why don’t you calm down, nourish yourself, and allow your wounds to heal. You will never be able to fly again if you continue in this manner.”
We sometimes act like wounded birds
We flap our broken wings to fly
To fly away as we always do
When we must stand in our truth
When we must allow our wounds to heal
When we’re called on to be:
The truest version of ourselves,
The souls we were meant to be.