text: Note: This story contains notions of addiction and sexual violence For nearly 20 years I solemnly perched on my twig-like swing, day after changeless day, singing melancholy melodies. My feathered bodice, once vibrant, shiny, and tamed, turned lackluster and disheveled at best. Long ago, I was a young, adventurous, and naive little hatchling. Nothing struck me as dangerous or frightening until a concealed felon decided to take advantage of my innocent undisturbed life. Little did I know that moment in time would etch away at my internal being and morph me into a helpless little blue bird. My child-like state did not realize the ramifications of following you to your nest that night. You lured me in with ease by glamorizing your nest; detailing jewels of beauty, golds speckles across the delicate imported twigs, and moss as soft as clouds. Stealthily, you tricked me into believing that you had something of incredible rarity to dazzle me with back at your luxurious home. “What an exceptional opportunity,” I thought, so I abandoned my zone of safety just for you--excited for something magical. Your nest was set in a secluded area and truly was as captivating as you had described. Filled with unique décor and iridescent items, I was not disappointed. They were beautiful, but later I realized they were items collected from prior victims. A natural predator, you waited until the right moment to execute your strike. Once I was under a dazed-like spell, unaware of nothing but the charm of my surroundings, you struck your prey. More agile than I, you had me in your piercing talons instantly. Harshly pinned against the twigs and leaves you inserted yourself into me despite my cries. I attempted to claw against you as you violated me, but your strength was overpowering. Clawed down, body immobile, seconds went by like hours. Eventually I stopped trying to fight you. I knew I could not defeat your sickly desires and I grew tired of your bladed beak perforating every part of me every time I fought back. Just like all your other victims, you chained me to a cage so you could continue to batter me and my soul, until there was nothing left to take. Afraid of further harm, I let you continue to take advantage of me. The nest was so hidden, no noble flock could hear my cries. It was apparent that I needed to learn a way to survive the cage of horror. Since I was alone, except for when in your company, I decided to create a version of a friend. A friend that possessed unique qualities. One unique power was that it could shape-shift into many forms to attend to my ever-changing needs. It provided feelings of numbness, emptiness, and the feeling of nothingness that I craved. It could even make me invisible at times, so I could hide from the monster that originally shoved me into metal bindings. Bindings with minimal space. This friend told me to harshly rub my wings against the sharp edges of the metal to create wounds. Told me to refuse the little food my perpetrator set aside for me daily, claiming it would leave me empty and numb. And for a while it did work. That friend seemed like a blessing. Unfortunately, my friend eventually shifted into a friend and a foe. In friend form, it was small and skeletal. Fragile. In foe, its evil demeanor presented as a cloaked shadow. The shadow, authoritative and dominant, quickly forced my friend into the shadows. It began telling me lies. At first it was a lie here and there; the lies only grew more frequent until everything my foe said was a lie. Trapped by one suddenly became trapped by two. Who was this foe? Meanwhile, the untamed hawk continued to feed his repulsive acts. First a canary, then a starling, magpie, and swallow. What surprised me the most was when he seduced a hummingbird. The hawk always complained that they “hummed” too loudly and weren’t his type. Fortunately, the monster did not satisfy his needs with this selection. The hummingbird was agile and he, a large hawk, was not. He wasn’t able to recapture this prey. On the hummingbird’s frantic escape out, she saw me. She stopped at my cage and told me that although she could not release me from my entrapment, she could help me. After she flew away, I cuddled up and sat there confused. I could not understand why I was the hawk’s trapped prize possession when he let all the other victims go. He said something about “liking pretty little blue birds.” One night, while the haw was out hunting, the hummingbird hummed near a small cage space; she did hold to her word. Her long delicate beak pushed in a small bag of strange looking pellets. “What kind of bird seeds are those?” I asked innocently. “These are not bird seeds; these are better than that.” Before I could ask more questions, she was gone. My claws sifted through the small pouch of pellets. There seemed to be two different kinds, one labeled “Special K,” and the other, a large “X” in the center. Cautiously, I took one at a time. I started with the one with the “X” in the center. It made me feel calm, almost like there was a void around me and nothing mattered. I embraced this feeling. Excited that the hummingbird really did provide help, I swallowed the special K pellet. This pellet was like no other; my world became distant and a kaleidoscope appeared in front of me. It was the most wonderful and invigorating experience since I was a free and innocent blue bird. One pellet of each a day soon became two, then, three. Then came the black outs and the cravings for more of each wondrous pellet. Although I knew my stash was dwindling, I could not stop myself from indulging. I did not want to feel like I did the night the hawk lured me into his hidden nest. The “X” and the “K” removed that feeling completely and silenced my internal screams for help. At times, the hawk would have to fly my intoxicated body to one of his trusted healers (one that shared the hawk’s same wrongful acts). The healer would expunge my feathered body from the drugs, to allow me to breathe and flutter around. For selfish reasons, the hawk refused to let me pass into the darkness of the sky because he wanted to inflict more damage. It would be too kind to spare me of my troubled mind. What used to be an open sky filled with rays of sunshine narrowed into a dark and stormy hurricane where I could only see fragments of reality. Confused about my situation, I continued to hurt myself. Why? Because that was what I learned over time. I was unaware that there was another way out. Funny enough, the hawk had unlocked my cage door years ago; he knew I would never try to spread my wings and fly away; he had trained me well. I did the hawk’s and the shadow’s job for them; all they had to do was watch me repeatedly tear myself down until I was unable to perch and cry my laments. They were the ones who initiated my pain and suffering, but I was the one who perpetuated it. It took me what seemed like ages, to understand that I was my own undoing; however, the mere thought of spreading my wings to fly seemed unattainable. What had become of me? To be honest, it was a question I could not answer; one I was afraid to find out. I did know that I was no longer an unsilenced, carefree nestling anymore. It made me feel sad at times. Despite fear of the unknown, and the comfort and familiarity of suffering, I grew tired of my circle of self-destruction. I wanted at least one thing in my dreadful cage- no cages, to change. My mind trapped me just as much as the metal bars that surrounded me. Unsure of how to make change, I did what I thought would help. I’d move my water bowl here, move a twig there, attempt to sing neutral harmonies, and even stuck my beak close to the open cage door. Other than the appearance of my destructive shelter, nothing changed. My inner being was still the same, my sorrows untouched. It wasn’t until I took a deep look into myself and my previous actions, did I understand how to shape-shift into someone new. Previous attempts failed because I tried to fly on my own, expecting an easy flight after leaving the sky un-soared for quite some time. It did not occur to me that change does not happen instantly, without work or transformation involved. One day, lost in thought, I observed a yellow butterfly delicately flutter through the nest. This is when the answer came to me. Butterflies are not born in their state of beauty, they must transform. And that is what I did. I constructed new friends (their names were Hope, Trust, Faith, and Forgiveness) that I could furrow into during times of distress or difficulty. I created a unique and personalized plan of transformation. Slowly, I relied less on starvation and the use of pellets laced with drugs. I did not feel the need to inflict self-injury as often. Eventually, I developed enough confidence to spread my wings and soar into the vast blue openness of freedom, where I could belt out peaceful rhythms and chants with the rest of the birds. After all these years, the hawk no longer owns me. I can finally say that I am uncaged and I am free!