The Memoir Of Ms. Butterfly

I wore steel to sleep,
dreamt in chainmail lullabies,
shielded from the sting of my reflection.

Every choice I didn’t cradle,
Every path I didn’t choose with love—
I punished myself for both.

So I built a fortress,
not to keep the world out,
But to keep me from touching myself.

But armor rusts.
It grows heavy with years.
And softness waits beneath like spring under snow.

Now, I loosen the latch.
Let the light bruise my skin.
Let the ache be a teacher, not a jailer.

I am not the wound.
I am not the weapon.
I am the one learning to hold both with grace.

By: Ms. Butterfly Genesis