“butterflies can’t see their own wings”
my wings were unique, folded and geometric
i felt proud, never hid them like a secret
i was called brave
↳”i’d want to die if i were you”
i pulled my antennas over my eyes
i naively accepted compliments at face value (i belonged)
when it came time to fly, i could only flutter
that’s all my wings could do (i was okay with that)
i wished for someone to lift me up
or at least visit me back on the ground
but they towered above me in the sky
eyes i once imagined as kind
turned one by one into despise
i was both a spotlight and invisible
i discovered my being was laughable
what if i should force my wings back?
crush myself against the will of God to please his better projects?
(please come back and turn your mess into a masterpiece)
i nail these paper-thin wings against a cross
my crime is existing without a second thought
is my disappearance alone enough to forgive the imperfections of the universe?
does nothing compare to the shame i was cursed with?
as my fragile body rips off the nails
i try to escape this trap i made and fail
(my wings are folded even in death)

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Graham