Reluctant Metamorphosis

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Caterpillars rarely seem content with the lot

Given to them; with secret wishes of flying

On wings of colored satin filling their dreams

At night. Yet I was at ease with my simple

Life of green experience. I was satisfied

With my lot, never longing for brighter

Days in the sun. Now comes the time

For me to transform; a new stage of

My being begins to fight its

Way to the light. Harsh truths

Cause me to itch. Cold reality

Makes my hide shrivel and die

All around me; the coat beneath

Crawling to the surface to breathe.

I shed my childhood skin and watch as the pieces

Drift slowly to the floor. How can these flakes

That have housed so many fond memories,

So many hopeful dreams and eager wishes

Drift so slowly to the damp ground?

How can they leave me so easily,

As if they were never a true part

Of myself; as if this skin never truly fit?

Clinging to the decay at my feet,

I cry in anguish over my lost days.

I morn my last life, wanting nothing

More than to live it again, to be

As simple and ignorant as I once was;

A state I will never return to.

Woman

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I am woman

Hear me roar

See me stand

So tall and

So strong

 

I am woman

I fear not

The wind or

The rain or

A broken heart

 

I am woman

Created from man

Equal to man

Needed by man

Independent of man

 

I am woman

The bringer of life

The muse of love

Singer of verse

Treasure of old

 

I am woman

I am strong

I am smart

I am pure

I am unique

 

I am woman

Tale So Old

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Hedonist.

Cravings that can’t be sated,

Itches that can’t be scratched.

Subconsciously searching

                                                 Thirsting

                                                                   Demanding the bloom of bliss

                                                                                                                          The blossoming at the core

Why is it a crime to reach for what you want?

 

Hypocrite.

Voicing objections of motive:

“For thou art pure and pristine”

But “thees” and “thous” and “thines” mean nothing now!

They ring empty; hollow like a fresh grave below my feet.

An ideal still believed, but only practiced in song and tale.

White feathers have been dipped in ink;

They glow in the sun

All the while hiding the stains

                                                         The smudges

                                                                                     The crooked veins injecting darkness into the plumes

 

What is worse: crafting the lie or believing it?

 

Each night, a feather darkened.

Each morning, one lost.

 

Two souls cracked

                                  Broken

                                                  Shattered

One with a vision-swimming, head-spinning, 2-plus-2-is-sky mentality

Struggling to stand, to put one foot in front of the other, to keep eyes open

The other in a life raft attached to fading memories of an extinct past

Struggling to breathe, to smile, to continue living

They took advantage of each other’s

                                                                    Scars

                                                                                  Anguish

                                                                                                    Circumstance

Yet still the itch cannot be scratched,

Still the feathers continue to darken

To a color colder and more isolated than the midnight sky.

One question still remains:

If we were both victims,

Which one of us is to blame?

Man Within the Bear

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My red sweater isn’t so thick

As to keep his touch at bay.

The bear smiles and

Pulls me close, my lips

Finding his through the

Prickly hairs on his chin.

A chuckle rises from deep

Within his throat, a burst of

Hot breath on my neck as

He whispers my name

In the darkness. I live for these

Clandestine kisses in the dark woods.

These moments of wanted aimlessness,

Getting lost in familiar places, all so that

We can steal time for ourselves.

The world has no boundaries

For us, for our cause, for our love.

The man within the bear is

Kinder than all the others.