Swan

Everyday I scrape away mounds of soot

Black and oily

Caked and dry in patches

There are many patches

Of memories blocking my now

I thought my past was a stool

I could stand on to see clearer

Turns out it is a spiked electric hill of metal wires

Daring me to have a life without its teeth

Biting into my heels and calves

But my feet are calloused enough by now

To dance on top the thorns

See these toes

Way that they point and hold my body fine

See these great big legs of mine

Steady and firm

These muscles toned from critique and shame

What a strong and pretty duckling

I became