Soft Bird

It was unattainable. That’s what she said anyway. I believe she didn’t believe me, and that was okay. I was going to be somebody even if I had to change who I was. If I had to use, drugs or people, I would.

I wasn’t always like this, blinded by ambition. I used to be pure. I would sing as a child. The tunes would be songs that I heard or ones I made up, never knowing which was which. I sang so much she called me bird. I’ve been called a lot worse by people who were a lot worse. Maybe I was the worst. Where did the vulnerability go?

Bird’s going to be okay. Just plot and plan. You know them all so well. It will be a cinch to convince them you’re worth it. All you have to do is play the game. No one is considering you when they make a decision so why should you? Manipulation for the greater good. Yes! What you have to give, they want. Bird does not have to even exist. Bird is weak. Prey. You need to be tough, harsh. You must forgo all the sense of empathy if you wish to succeed.

There is an old man and his dog. I am sitting in the park. The man waits at the ready with a plastic bag wrapped around one hand. He anticipates the drop. It comes. He blissfully picks up the excrement and ties a simple knot. I giggle, forgetting her harsh words. Forgetting my ego. Tweet, tweet. I am bird. I feel the barriers that surround my soul crumbling. A tear. A Smile. Soft Bird.