I am feeling so broken
so frail and obscene
like the mispainted butterfly
that flys to our feet
to be crushed by the
weight of its self imposed
hated
that we taught is with pictures
of others so beautifully spotted
like that poor unique butterfly
we all have a picture
"I was suppose to be perfect"
"I was not to fail"
I was, I was we say time and again
as tears well at the corner of our eyes
but what we can not see is the
little girls eyes and the quietly spoken words
of wonder from those see us
" Isn't she beauitful"
"Isn't he strong"
"I want to be them when I am all grown"
In the tears and the sorrow do not forget
who we live for.
we do not live for praise and glory
but to be an example to the next
the next generation that will inspire
a brighter world
where unique is not ugly, or stupid, or wrong
but loved and cherished in all like a wondrous song.
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