Feathers weighed down by the grey colors

Of melted snow in a New York gutter;

Beak stained black with an unknown curse-

To die, or live looking like this, which was worse?

 

Wonky-looking, ostracized,

Might as well be ostrich-sized.

I tried to make myself beautiful

Took a dozen baths; the grey was unmovable

 

Covered myself in snow to be more viewable

Stuck my beak in paint because yellow was more suitable

I thought my appearance could be reducible

 

But the deformities that made me

were irrefutable.

 

Insults hurled from the barks of dogs

And my own family, so I moved on.

Flying, racing, pounding my wings,

My rejected body stronger than any duckling;

 

I never turned white- never ended up pretty

My matted grey feathers stayed

What a pity

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Or was it? 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Alone but not lonely, I found myself;

In trying to integrate, I had lost mental health

But the years spent flying away from the hate

And rejection were farthest from far from a waste

 

Age had ripened the mind, and I saw:

 

 

Feathers accented by the grey colors

of the bustling snowfall of a New York winter;

Beak painted black with a deep rich ink-

Could you find more majesty in the great Sphinx?

 

Strong-looking, capable,

Like a dragon from an old fable.

 

My worth became scrutable

My confidence became unmovable.

 

I didn't cover up- made myself more viewable

Stuck my beak up high because it was more suitable

I don't want my appearance to be reducible

 

Because the deformities that make me 

are the most beautiful.