What if You Are Not a Butterfly?

Hey, you,

wallowing in the daily grind,

chopping wood, hauling water.

I see you.

I see your struggle,

I see your pain.

You’re like a butterfly

waiting to be born,

human potential wrapped in silky barriers,

seductively safe but ephemeral.

This is what we say.

That one day you will

break the bonds and fly away.

And you will.

But

what if you are not a butterfly?

What if your wings are not

kaleidoscope mosaics

but something more prosaic?

Personally,

I want to spread smiles

when I flutter,

but I think I'm more of an

every day, solidly beating

sturdy wings of a thing.

A little plain,

subtle hues of nondescript,

but a wee bit shiny

if you look really close.

More fuzzy and cozy

than curated selfie

if you get my drift.

I do that a lot.

Just drift.

And sometimes

I take stupid risks

and fly too close to the flames

or beat myself against the glass.

Windows, ceilings, whatever,

I'm not getting through.

But at least I keep trying,

and striving

and working through the pain,

occupying my space

with dignity,

I hope,

and a spirit that never quits.

So it’s okay.

It's okay to be a moth

in a world made for butterflies.

There's more of us than them.

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