A Butterfly’s Protest 


I will not give into lost love; my mother’s harsh edges will not scrape me

Impenetrably morphed into a sculpture unrecognisable.

Where you are hard, I will be soft in protesting reclamation.

Where you scream, I will whisper

Into the Moon, gentle sunrise’s witness, that watches

The fractals of your empire tear apart in gentle fissions

That I stick my fingers into, pry out the last morsel

Of my heart’s own kindness stolen from me.

Faithful, my heart beats on where yours never was

I dress in a gas mask of hope as everything you are

Crumbles to choking ruins that creep inside my trachea,

And the abusive marble tomb that I once called Home crumbles to empty

Dust. 

[Jamie Martin – (they/he) – @j.writestheworld]

image credit: everythinginart.com

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