Butterflies by Angelyn Liu (16, California)

i wish i could tell you about the myriad of clippings from my mind’s daily paper,
​
but i’m scared that upon peeling back one too many layers of my cocoon,
you’ll encounter the butterflies blundering blindly in my ribcage
and the words that have dissipated halfway up my windpipe. ensconced
in a darkness as suffocating as it is empty, i am alone like i always have been.

---

butterflies materialize in the margins of my notebook, two-dimensional
figures defined only by graphite strokes. their wings
struggle to beat, begging to thrash free from their paper chains.
“i know what you feel like,” i try saying (of course, nothing comes out).
i tear the butterflies from the page as compensation for the dried
husk of my voice, but in the middle of their liberation
the clamor in my mind swells to a deafening high so
i stuff them into my mouth. swallow.

i wish i could tell you this isn’t just a phase. i’m not a butterfly

emerging from the haven of its chrysalis. i used to aspire to metamorphose
into something of worth, but i have realized that the leaves, chameleon-like, will
inhale fresh color every season, while i will continue to languish in a labyrinth
of my own design. the insomniac butterflies in my stomach will never sleep.

punctures bloom on the surface of my lungs.
i am minutely aware of the oxygen
seeping from my body; a balloon, discarded.
heartbeats ricochet through this hollowed shell. i can only trust myself
to utter disjointed missing puzzle piece prose for my voice
crumples, folds in on itself into the barest whisper of a rasp. a breath whistles
through the wood-whittled jaws that remain stagnant in their sculpture.

i wish i could tell you what was wrong with me.

instead, i choke on the butterflies trapped in my throat. the air is thick
with the emptiness of migratory patterns untraveled, the road not taken.
things could have been different if i hadn’t set disaster into motion the moment
i turned away to hide the shame spilling crimson across my face. forgive me--

i wish i could tell you,
​
but the taste of butterflies still lingers on my tongue.