The Crow, The Mouse & Other Creatures

Lately, I keep seeing crows.

I think animals are visiting me

Or maybe I’m a poet who sees symbolism.

Everywhere.

The Crow

One on a traffic light when I left the gym.

Another in my back garden, picking something up before flying away.

And then one — still, lifeless — in a supermarket car park, a soft thread of red spilling from its head.

Now I can hear them outside my window, calling, almost like a choir.

At first, I told myself it’s just coincidence. Maybe this area just has a lot of crows.

But something in me knows when life is trying to speak.

And lately, it feels like the universe has been shouting in feathers and wings.

Crows often symbolise death, but not always the kind that means gone forever.

Sometimes it’s the death of a version of yourself.

A quiet burial for the person you can’t keep being.

For me, I think it’s the death of the version of me who keeps asking for permission —

permission to speak up, to be heard, to exist without apology.

I’ve been shrinking, biting my tongue, waiting for someone to say,

yes, you can say that.

yes, you can be angry.

yes, you can stand your ground.

And I think the crows have come to remind me that no one will ever grant me that permission —

because it’s mine to claim.

There’s something about their energy that feels familiar:

unbothered, watchful, a little bit feared but deeply intelligent.

They don’t hide.

They perch where everyone can see them, black and glossy and loud.

They know how to survive on what others leave behind.

I used to think seeing a dead animal was a bad omen.

Now, I think it’s a mirror.

The dead crow wasn’t a warning; it was a reflection.

If I don’t change, if I don’t speak, if I don’t honour myself,

then something in me will keep dying quietly anyway.

Maybe this is what transformation really looks like.

Not soft, not romantic, but strange and unsettling —

a field full of crows, watching, waiting for you to choose life.

So I’m choosing to believe it’s crow season —

the time when I stop asking for permission

and start trusting my own voice,

even when it shakes.

If they’re following me, then maybe they’re not chasing me.

Maybe they’re guiding me —

through death, through rebirth, through whatever it means to finally speak

without waiting to be understood.

The Mouse

I was in the bathroom.

I was probably like six

a mouse ran over my foot

when I was on the toilet.

Then I moved out at 25

I was sitting on the toilet

in my new home

alone on the loo

the mouse came

I screamed for my life

maybe the house just needs cleaning

But it reminded me of when I was six

and the Mouse came to visit me

then the mouse was in my room

in my new home

It ran towards all my empty notebooks that are behind my bed

maybe the Mouse was telling me I need to write

or maybe I’m a poet who just see symbolism in everything

what

does the mouse want from me

there’s no food in my room

there’s no food in the bathroom

what does the mouse want from me

there’s moments

the mouse showed up

when i was a kid

it was in my first home

full of chaos and shouting

beatings

and tears

full of fear

that’s when i saw the mouse first

then again

i was 21

i went for a long walk

just to have a self talk

trying to repress

was causing more stress

I felt deeply depressed

i saw 5 dead mice and a dead pigeon

I felt the message was that I needed to take flight stop staying in places

that I had to hold my breath

when I slept at night

so i left

and i see the mouse again

at 25

living in a house share

i am paying rent

in a space that’s mine

for a leased amount of time

and i see the mouse again

first one on the toilet

called my Landlord

he acted like it was a chore.

He bought some traps

but then the mouse came back.

the mouse scuttled into my room this time

it went to where all my empty notebooks are

just behind my bed, there’s no food there just paper and shreds

unsent letters where i scream, but it went even further into my empty notebooks

what does the mouse want from me?

I think I know

maybe he wants me to dream.

Maybe it wants me to go back to when I was a kid

I lived in a house full of chaos

maybe the mouse is telling me that I’m gonna be okay now.

I’m doing life on my own.

well, I’m not alone

maybe the mouse is telling me I can build my home

Maybe the mouse is letting me know

It’s time to breathe

and let myself be free

I’ve set a trap and I feel bad

The Mouse is just a messenger

Sorry Mouse, I’ve got to trap you

But I hear the message

thank you, Mouse

i used to collect bugs

when i was younger

i used to have a lady bug hotel

in primary school

i made a tiny hill of dried grass and put flowers in it

during playtime i would collect the bugs especially ladybirds

and put them in the ladybug hotel

talk to the will and making up stories of the bugs life

i also used to collect spiders in jars when i was younger

i would put holes in the top and fill it with leaves and try to get flys for the spiders to eat

i would keep them for a couple weeks till i let them go and then collect another spider

also i collected snails

loool

i used to love bugs

I think I want a pet spider or a snake

—//—

I like that I can speak now

Even with the bad grammar

I am allowing myself to speak

thank you, Crow

thank you, Mouse

thank you to all the creatures

i see around