Written by Eden Courville, BA
Artwork courtesy of the Author

A songbird.

I flew freely across the skies, singing as my wings glided easily through the air.

I wanted the world to hear my song.
Upon the ground, a man beckoned to me, “Songbird,
please come grace me with your voice.” My heart fluttered, and I flew down to get a closer
look, cautious but not enough to fly away.

I sang for him, and his eyes lit with wonder. I was delighted to share my song. He asked me
to stay with him, telling me I could fly off as I wanted to share my song with the world, and I agreed,
wanting to make him happy.

I continued to sing for him many times, and it always brought him joy, which brought me
joy. I began to feel restless on his perch and asked him if I could fly off to share my song with
others, but he denied me, saying he didn’t want them to hear because it was special to him.
I accepted this for a while, but soon I continued to ask, desperate to spread my wings
and spread my song, and his responses became irate.

He would tell me my voice wasn’t good enough for others and sometimes rip off my feathers
in anger. I realized I would need to fly away by myself, and plotted my time to fly away.

He noticed this change in me, however, and at night, he held me and clipped my wings so I could no longer fly.
And with that, my song died.

Another found me and though I had dyed my feathers black to appear perhaps as a Raven
Instead, he approached “you’re not a Raven, you’re a songbird.”

I was alarmed, but he touched my feathers gently to wash away the black and told me that
just because my wings were clipped did not mean I couldn’t sing. “If you sing your
song for me, I will fix your wings so you can fly,” I spent a long time singing
by his side a darker melody than before.

He cared for me at first, lightly touching my feathers, listening in fascination. However,
he began to grow bored of my song, and he began to tell me I was worthless, that my
singing was deafening. I was no good, and no one should have to hear or see how ugly I was.
However cruel his words got, I endured because I was nothing without him.

I woke one night to find he was plucking my feathers as I slept in an attempt to make sure
no one found me beautiful. Despair plagued me at the realization of the damage he had done,
and when I begged him to stop, he took out a match to set my feathers on fire.

I was consumed by flames, smothered by the smoke as I watched him disappear in the
blinding black. My eyes opened, and I emerged from the ashes alive. I realized that I was
never just a songbird. My singing wasn’t made just to entertain others. The flames burn,
but in the end, I only come back stronger than before. My new wings spread, and carefully I
taught myself how to fly.

“I’m not just any songbird,”
I thought as I sang into the night,

I’m a Phoenix.