a flightless butterfly

i am angry and i will not apologize

i am angry at life for beating me down to the point where i am
timid,
desperate,
unable to see the beauty in myself,
unable to believe that something good could happen to me,
unable to speak my thoughts,
or even find the words to describe what has happened to me.

i am angry with my mind for the rollercoaster it has me on
the fleeting moments of happiness quickly snuffed out by my own actions
the way that feeling worthless causes me to vice grip anyone who shows interest
the self-fulfilling prophecies i inhabit
the it’s not you, it’s me

i search my heart for the me that once was
“boisterous”
fun to be with
laughing
fiercely independent
master of language
articulate & smart & ready to fight,
not roll over and fall into the cold familiar arms
of depression. inaction. self-loathing.

depression cradles me in her arms that seem to wrap around me twice
as i claw at my throat,
trying to rip out that defective gland
that has robbed me of my life,
my spark,
my energy,
my will to go on.

as i look at my bloodied hands i marvel at how such a small thing
butterfly shaped that does not fly
can completely devastate
incapacitate
leave me clinging to a shadow of what i once was

and still
i have no words

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