Being A Butterfly Is Hard
Being A Butterfly Is Hard
By Lizzie Brydon
Being a butterfly is hard.
I have long wings that can get me absolutely anywhere, but I tend never to stray far. My variety of bright hues distract the naked eye from all the tenebrism. My wings are tethered to the ground with metal chains like I have been locked up in a cage.
Being a butterfly is hard.
I become half hearted in search for the right flower to allow me to extract love from. My heart freezes over from the cold and restless winters, and cracks from the long and dry summers. My dainty heart can only take so many long nights alone.
Being a butterfly is hard.
Oh how I miss the sanctuary of my cocoon. The beginning when I was just a caterpillar. A caterpillar that never worried about what my wings hid from the world or how they weighed on me. I never had to fear my youthful heart becoming lonely and broken over the seasons. But my life line will repeat over and over and in the future. I hope being a butterfly will become easier for me.