The Memoir Of Ms. Butterfly

I trace the outlines of transformation,
but my hands falter at the seams—
how do I shed the weight of yesterday
when it has wrapped itself around my ribs
like a shelter, like a cage?

I say I want to be new,
but the old whispers back,
soft and familiar,
its echoes laced with fear,
with comfort disguised as chains.

Still, the wind hums possibility,
still, the sun does not hesitate to rise.
Perhaps change isn’t an escape,
but the quiet undoing of everything
I thought it kept me whole.

Ms. Butterfly Genesis