Writers 
I was born with wings I didn't know I had,
folded quiet beneath the weight of who they said I'd be,
told to stay small, told to stay safe, told not to add
too much color to a world too scared to let me fly free.
I learned to shrink my sky into a cage of expectation,
to trade my open air for walls that felt secure,
to trade the risk of flying for the comfort of stagnation,
mistaking captivity for something I could endure.
But something in me remembered the shape of open flight,
something ancient, something wild, something built to soar,
a whisper that kept calling through the dark and through the night,
"You were never meant to stay behind a closed door."
So I stretched my wings in secret, testing wind I couldn't see,
trembling at the edges of a freedom I'd forgotten,
until one day I simply chose to trust the sky, to be
the bird I always was beneath the fear, beneath the cotton.
I am not afraid of falling anymore, not like before,
for even falling teaches wings the language of the air,
every gust that tried to break me only taught me more
about the strength I carry, about the grace I bear.
I am learning now to live untamed, to live unbound,
to chase horizons I was told were never meant for me,
to let my spirit rise up from familiar ground,
to finally, fully, breathe the air of being free.
So let them watch in wonder as I leave the nest behind,
let them whisper questions I no longer need to answer,
I was born a free bird, wild, uncontained, unconfined,
and I will fly until the sky itself becomes my dancer.