I am that bird
at the top of that tree, over there,
chirping and singing.
And yes,
there are countless other birds
in all the other trees—
each offering their gifts this day.
Yet I wonder—
do they understand my singing?
Do they like my songs?
And does that really matter?
Because I must sing, anyway.
I have denied it for too long.
I must express—
because I have a something grand
in this puffy, feathered chest,
and it’s more than just air.
It’s my soul
and it can’t be held back anymore.
