QuirkBirds

we were never a flock with easy feathers

none born clean, symmetrical,

with smooth lines and easy flight paths

no…

we crashed into each other

wings torn and hearts feral

each one

a songbird turned scavenger

learning how to sing again

with throats full of ash

bearing our purple scars

glistening like oil spills in the sun

proof that pain never broke us

it gilded

we wear our stories

like second skins

rough and radiant

still soft

in the places the world tried to harden

we absorb what others deflect

sponges of sorrow

collectors of ache

we feel with

not for

there is a difference

we do not rescue each other

we witness

we hold

we sit in the wreckage

open -

only warmth

only breath

only knowing

don’t remember the beginning

only that one day

you were there

and I was no longer alone

our wings?

bent.

but still capable of lifting one another

we are a flock of the wrecked and risen

my quirk birds

my chosen.