I was a foul caterpillar of ineptitude,
The time came to become better,
So I coat myself in stone and feathers,
Material for the renaissance,
But something is amiss,
This is not the cocoon I was promised,
But a sarcophagus,
A cell for my bodily stagnation,
An incarceration for each magpie I didn’t count,

Now more sludge than butterfly,
I am instead stifled by this cage,
Why does metamorphosis elude me?
I just wanted to finally be better,
Nothing more than to emerge,
To evolve,
To be superior to the me of yesterday,
Yet it feels as if it isn’t to be,
Like a moth plucked of its wings,

A grub for evermore.

Comments
  1. Carol anne says:

    very well done i like it xoxo

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