To be a Butterfly

Darcy Mueller

When I was little

I wrote a story about butterflies

They were soft

And fragile

And oh so kind

I wanted to be a butterfly

So colors could paint my skin

Where there was only the black of ink

I would drink the ink I bleed

Swirling it on pages to craft stories

Though I wished to be a butterfly

I believed these stories could save the world

I would lay words like bricks

I thought I was building a sanctuary

But the words would not flow into a shield

The fingers of the world could still get in

I wished to be a butterfly

I see the world from the safety of the sky

I forgot butterflies were frail

They would drown in the rain

That washed the ink from my skin

So I held my feet to the ground

Letting time was over me

Now I do not know

What happened to the butterflies about which I wrote