Chrysalis Girl

Death seems the only constant thing
a perpetual knowing within
even though others see
She could become a butterfly

though nothing explains
her continual complaint with
death's inevitable embrace
willing and wanting to
take Joy's soul
from beating her own flitty dance

She never wanted to become something
that gripes "woe-is-me" human poetry

So she encased herself in her cobwebbed prison
til she figured things out

like transformative transcendence
in hushed privileges
of bouncing words
on unautographed pages

Friends and horrors have
passed her by
and still she sits still
pondering the worth of all
meditations and escapist desires
to find freedom by merging fire & water...

perhaps it was only to quell her fears
of drowning the tormenting
self-knowing, -loathing

Could anyone else
understand, comprehend
the heart that's been
so low in the dark;
between sheets of petulent violence?
lost in youth's mishandling;
ignored, disposed of, held in disregard?
like a dirty tissue that hasn't found its basket

In her "ohmmms" and "sighs"
and deep breathing embraces -- she seeks
more to life than oxygen and
empty space between the stars
to fit somewhere comfy in the unfolding encasement
she's built herself in

Wings peeking through the cottony curtains
she's been ready
almost lightning light years ago
but the Universe outside never fully able
to make 'delicate' part of its conformity
for her to feel safe and ready enough to come out and fly.

but to delay her liberation
because of endless devastations
would give victory to the enemy's enchantment

so she starts to spread her wings
and risk her life
even though it may be trickling moments soon
before she is blown away and dies.