“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)