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?
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
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?
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.