The Memoir Of Ms. Butterfly

For the woman who stayed

Thursday isn’t just a date.

It’s a pulse.

A breath I didn’t know I’d still be taking.

A milestone I carved with trembling hands

when no one was watching—

not even me.

I didn’t think I’d be here this long.

Not for one reason.

Not for ten.

But I’m here.

And maybe I don’t always wear my gratitude loud,

But it’s stitched into every scar I didn’t hide.

I’m saying goodbye to 43.

To the woman who thought

a smile had to be perfect,

a life had to be polished,

a soul had to be packaged

to be worthy of staying.

She tried.

She tried so hard to be put together

when all she ever needed

was to be real.

And now—

now she knows:

If you can’t accept her as she is,

you can go Kid Rock your way out the door.

Because she’s learning,

every damn day,

that her voice matters.

That her presence is not a mistake.

That survival is not selfish.

Still, she struggles.

Silently.

With the question:

Why am I still here?

And maybe the answer isn’t loud.

Maybe it’s not even clear.

But maybe—just maybe—

It’s in the art she makes,

the movement she builds,

the truth she refuses to bury.

She’s here.

And that’s enough.

For now.

For always.

By: Ms. Butterfly Genesis