Sometimes the bird is too afraid
To sing too loud because she fears
That the world will find out
That her voice isn’t made of glass
Arranged in order
Like a window

So she will whisper to herself
Every valley and peak
Of melody so only
She can hear
The imperfection
And the mediocrity

No one will know
Her voice could move mountains
And suck the sea dry
And cause the entire world
To choke up and cry
But she will never realize

That as she sung
Gently to herself
The heavens opened up
And rain scattered over the grass
At the base of her sanctuary
And her prison as a result.

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Emma Gray is a 17-year-old aspiring writer who processes and communicates the complexity of human emotions through words. She has used words to find peace in her sexuality, illness, and the difficulties of mortality.