butterfly

My apartment is so dark some mornings,

and this one is no exception.

Maybe what they said about me in grade

school all those years was true,

each time my peers referred to me as dark

and I had to clarify and tell them

I was just philosophical

and analytical when it came to emotions,

and they replied yeah dark.

Dark was the first thing I noticed this morning

when the sun hid behind some clouds.

Then again, how could I be a dark lord,

when I spend most of my work days

empowering disabled middle schoolers

and teaching them how to turn

hopeless feeling situations into hopeful ones

by simply changing one’s perspective

on failure, disability and obstacle?

Is it a nice sounding cover story I hide behind

to keep from scaring others with just how

vulnerable, chaotic and relative I enjoy being?

Maybe a little bit.

But aren’t we all just a little bit of everything

we think we’re not, given the funhouse of

projection?

It’s how I know what I really want is to

surround myself with a vortex of confusion

and melancholy, ride it up into the so-called

more certain, lighter and happy world, and then

touch down on each sad and dispirited shoulder

like a dying butterfly.

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