I am no longer a starving, helpless bird devouring trails of crumbs. Wings once battered and drenched have strengthened and dried. Brightly colored, they glide where the soft winds carry. Beginning to fly after years of crawling through mud. I’m no longer asking for kindness where it doesn’t exist or allowing myself to survive on nothing. I now rise early, promptly respond to my needs, and rest calmly. I used to think I was thriving on the crumbs carelessly tossed my way. Those crumbs once defined my life. I wanted to be defined by them, they were enough; they were satisfying. They even fed me enough to nest a beautiful egg that hatched a gorgeous fledgling. With its birth, I was reborn. No more crumb trails. No more searching for desired directions. No more romanticizing where I used to drown. I now fly where I’m wanted. I bathe in clear water warmed by the sun. I seek guidance. I seek healing and work to understand my flaws, which have made an incredible story.

Now I feed myself. I don’t need your crumbs. Months ago, I would’ve willingly survived on those crumbs. I would’ve loved to starve on your scraps of half-affections. I would’ve let you run our life.

Flying feels so much better than drowning. Breathing my own air means I can’t suffocate. Keeping my fledgling warm gives me everything I’ll need.

I’m getting stronger. On my fucking own.

Fuck your crumbs.