A quiet promise in my
mind: "I will free
myself soon"

Eventually decay
splits my walls
wide open

The rot has got
me angry
hot

(Becoming a butterfly is not what I thot)

Most butterflies get
free at 21,
23

I'm 37 now and
the grey layers
run deep.

Mummy-like, weigh
me down, keep me
buried underground
I've been so scared
you see, to
be free

For the beauty
of a butterfly is
seen as a

Threat to those
who have never
truly flown