The Memoir Of Ms. Butterfly

Three years to mend what time had carved,
Seventeen years of echoes, unstarved.
I poured transparency like rain,
Yet the past refused to drain.

We lived yesterday, never today,
God gave a door, but we stayed in the hallway.
And when the storm came crashing through,
I found myself whispering sorry—again, anew.

Wanting so deeply, my grip turned tight,
Love is fragile when held too right.
I chased the past, hoping to bend,
But in my grasp, it broke again.

What could have been, what should have stayed,
spinning dreams on a carousel, frayed.
I prayed for a second chance to prove,
Yet walked in circles, lost in the groove.

Ms. Butterfly Genesis