When I was just a little boy, still living with my mother, I'd go to my grandmother's almost every day. So long ago, she told me stories of the misunderstood black furred animals. In particular, the little blackbird was the one that resounded the most in me. He had beautiful feathers that glimmered like oil on water when the sun hit them. He was free to fly where ever his little heart would dare take him. He could do so many things, and 'well he did them. He grew into a larger bird and experienced pains of being caught and tied down, friends proved disloyal, and his closest loved ones abandoned him. He built up as much of an emotional wall that bird could, and tried not to let outsiders in. He wanted friends that wold stay by his side. He tried making friends with people, but they thought his voice was bad luck. When he crossed their paths, he'd get chased off like a vandal. Now, blackbird was trapping himself, not letting the world hear his voice, the beautiful song it held if you listened. He flew away anytime anything got too close, and he trapped himself that way. If could've just had a friend to give him the motivation, he cold have fond the keys. The first key, speaking his own dignified truths and opinions, expressing his experience in life. The second key, letting himself out of his own protective cage to see how beautiful the world is, even if the people in it weren't necessarily. The third key, not letting himself feel devalued because someone else says so, and not keeping his feelings bottled up for fear of being hard.
Sometimes, I feel like I'm the little Blackbird