The funny thing
about being young
is the curiosity
of who I'll become.
But in the blink of an eye
I looked over my shoulder
My youth behind me
and now I'm older.
I still feel green
and my legs are weak
My voice shakes
every time I speak
But with each word
that I pass out
I find that my whimper
has turned into a shout.
My feathers are dry
I settle in
Slowly but surely
I love my skin.
The egg tooth has fallen
And I find that I can,
without assistance,
proudly stand.
I remember the days
when I tried to fit in
To someone else's
Idea of Skin.
I used to covet
the strength to define
Opinions and boundaries
that I had made mine.
I'd felt so weak,
and yearned to be strong.
But now I know
I was all along.