A poem

She danced
like a smooth winged butterfly,
through the hazy morning
and they left her.

Her curls were the fringe
to her wings;
giving her an edge
a bounce in her step

her glide,
was bizarre;
still she flew.

Dark curls flapped gently
against her strong spine,
she moved
like an angel.
Many things,
they cannot understand.

Delicate she was,
soft she was,
but inside her ribcage
lived a beast
sonorous roars
escaped it.

Like a lion caged
behind rusted bars,
soon,
weak enough to break
if the beast kept gnawing.

Each time they told her
who she should be,
how she should become,
behave,
the thing snarled in her chest
she stayed silent.
They wanted to change her,
they wanted to pluck her curled butterfly wings.

Didn’t they know,
when you touch the wings of a butterfly,
she dies?

Why did they wish death upon such a beautiful thing?
They didn’t see
the beast gnawing inside
the cage of her chest.

They didn’t know,
she couldn’t be broken
so easily.

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