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.
