As children, the cocoon surrounds us
No exposure,
No danger.
It absorbs the pain.
There is no reflection of our suffering.

Adolescence begins
And the painful shedding of our shell commences.
Few emerge early,
Their pain exposed on their wings
In beautiful reds, blacks, and blues.

Jealousy pulses through the veins
Of those still shrouded.
They rip, claw
They tear the wings away.
If only they’d realize that their wings
Will expose, just as well.

Unable to hid, the choice few watch,
As their pieces fall to the ground,
And are left broken.
Many are convinced through hatred,
That their beautiful battle scars

Are worthless.
Weak.
Ugly. That these cocoons
Of mediocre white are
Perfection.
An unattainable normal

Unable to see
That under the perfect veil
There are scars,
Blood and cuts,
Reds, blacks, and blues.

And in the end,
They who were the most beautiful,
Alone, scared and tormented,
Rip off their broken wings.

Though they may have been alone
Mother Earth now envelops them
And weeps,
For the suffering that once seemed endless.
Now, there is no more pain.