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.