annoying little things

tapping on my window

sweet nectar for them from mom

cereal for me

from me

then their existence

the sound of their wings

used to torment me

and the way that I speak

or hold on to words

the hum where other kids expected silence

and I’d cry

hearing it neither from the small bird

nor myself as I spoke

until I stood face to face with one

between the glass of the sliding door

and I saw its beauty

then focused in on mine

a reflection of me

in the glass

in the bird

and I smiled

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