Stupid monarch butterfly poem

I wish I were a monarch butterfly.

People watch them pass in silence.
No one reaches out too fast—
they know the wings are thin,
too easy to damage,
too lovely to break.

They are left alone,
not because they are dangerous,
but because people understand
they don’t belong to anyone.

I wonder what that’s like—
to be noticed and untouched,
to be soft
without being seen as weak.

To move freely
and not owe anyone a piece of yourself
just because you passed through their sky.

I wish I were like that.
I wish my boundaries were instinctively known,
not something I had to beg for,
over and over again,
only to be ignored
like background noise.

My body isn’t yours.
My “no” is not a negotiation.
But still,
they laugh.
Still, they reach.
Still, I am supposed to smile.

They say butterflies are fragile.
But people step carefully when they see one.
No one ever assumes they can take without asking.
Isn’t that something?

I wish I were a monarch.
So I could exist
and be left alone—
not because I had to shout,
but because they already knew
better.

Yap part

Stupid Monarch butterfly poem.