In this discomfort I'm consumed.
Wrapped in anticipatory fear.
I itch and I ache.
Still I hold out hope that there's relief,
When this shell finally breaks.
Only I have hoped for many things.
Now that I am exceeding hope,
Do I want these wings?
Did I terminate life, just to be reborn?
Couldn't amputate infected limbs,
'till they were torn.
It's a shame it had to come to this.
I'm not even missed.
Does a monarch feel alone inside its chrysalis?
These leftover thoughts are all that remain.
It's hard to accept a gain.
When I know it spawned from pain.
Don't shame me, I never knew...
Walls of hurt could only hold me for so long.
Until I grew.
I can feel the casing split.
I cower away from freedom...
Because I'm unsure what to do with it.
Encased, with only one escape.
Surrounded by only what I purge.
Not quite flying yet, but I can feel I'm on the verge.
This is interesting. Rather than concentrate on the butterfly you made it about the spiritual turmoil that comes from change. The third and last stanzas hit hard and will be remembered. You used 9 stanzas which is a number that coresponds to the lines per stanza squared. Very clever but it made it long.
Good work, Peach. I really like this poem.
I think anyone's major fear with going through such a stage is the idea that in the end, they've changed so much that they wouldn't be able to recognize who they see in the mirror due to having changed so much.
Most major change is seldom painless and there's always that clinging to what one was instead of what one will be.
In the end though, the change completes and what was once will be now is.