Wings of My Own Making

[Susan]

Becoming your authentic self is both a return and a transformation — a journey of unlearning the roles and masks imposed by others, and discovering the truth that has always lived within you. For many transgender people, it is a process of shedding, like a bird molting its borrowed feathers, until what remains is wholly, unmistakably your own. In this poem, the bird and the phoenix become symbols of that awakening — the quiet ache for freedom, the fire of change, and the exhilarating flight into a life where you are finally, fully yourself.

Wings of My Own Making

I was born in a nest
that never felt like home,
told to sing a song
that scraped my throat raw.

I learned to tuck my wings,
to perch quietly on branches
chosen for me,
to swallow the ache for open sky.

But the fire came —
not to destroy me,
but to burn away the feathers
that were never mine.

Through the smoke,
I felt the truth stirring —
a heartbeat like wingbeats,
a call older than my name.

I rose, ash falling like rain,
new feathers bright with the colors
I had only dreamed.
The air opened wide,
and I flew — not away,
but toward myself.

I am no longer a caged bird.
I am the phoenix reborn,
flame-forged,
rising into the vast
and endless sky.

[Northern Star Girl]

@Susan
Dear Susan:
Thank you for sharing your heartfelt thoughts for all of us to read. 
It is very nicely composed and "hits home" for me and our members.

Thank you for sharing from your heart.

HUGS, Danielle [Northern Star Girl]
    The Forum Administrator