The Birds Held a Funeral on Your Porch

Today you saw a dead baby bird on your porch. You were about to open the door when a snake slithered on the concrete and ate it. You cried. It wasn’t so much for the bird as it was for the fact your fear had finally come true, only three feet away. The deceased bird’s family gathered on the railing. You were watching your own life. Devoured by fears.

Life’s not fair. Children know this. They cry over the last piece of candy their sibling got. This is meaningless to you. Then you realize your complaints are meaningless to them. Bills, backaches, a broken heart. You miss when your most important decisions were choosing what pens and notebooks you wanted for the first day of school. You miss when you didn’t make comparisons. People say you have to learn to love yourself, but you can only learn through others. Staring in a mirror, forcing compliments will only get you so far.

You’re aging. You’re bitter. It’s because you keep letting people have sleepovers inside your heart. Your friends get married, some move for work. You crave bonds, so you memorize strangers’ routines. You know the way they like their coffee, their goofy walk, how many times they check to confirm their leather jacket hasn’t fallen off the chair. “Pay attention to what’s important,” your father says. You watch the trail of insects and patterns of dirt as your fingers run through blade like leaves.

There are dreams you don’t want to wake up from and ones you never wanted to be shown. Nightmares linger. Not everyone gets to die peacefully in their bed knowing they gave it their all. You don’t want to be the dead baby bird being swallowed whole. You want to use your wings and thrive. But the restrictions you’ve placed on yourself are like indelible ink.