To Fly

I’m broken

I’m a broken thing

But not broke in the sense of a broken bone that can heal

I don’t feel I’ve ever truly healed

I’m a broken thing 

But not broken like a china doll

Though it can be tedious, one who so wishes can glue the doll piece by piece slowly over time, until she is finally fully herself again  

I think…

I think I’m a butterfly

Something that was beautiful when it was born. Beautiful and incredibly fragile, but it was made to do something, to fly.

But once a butterfly wing is damaged, it can never heal.

I am a butterfly with damaged wings 

I see all the other butterflies fluttering joyously around me, I’m full of envy 

I am a butterfly cursed never to fly, bound to the ground until I inevitably wither away

And it hurts more knowing that maybe once, I could have flown, but now…

after all I have survived and all the damage I lived though

I will  never be able to fly