metamorphosis










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A short spoken word poem which I wrote, about growth, childhood and the future. Thank you for reading, I hope to perform these some days. :) <3

metamorphosis

My sister asked me to explain to her

why a moth,

why a moth, spanning only the length of her six-year-old palm

her six-year-old palm,

her six-year-old palm, imagine how small,

after nibbling on clothes far behind in the wardrobe

left her comfort,

left her comfort, left to feed on whatever light its little size could find.

I am not the best at words,

I am not the best at words, believe me,

I have tried talking my way out of problems far bigger

than a six-year-old palm

and found at the end of the day,

and found at the end of the day, my pockets are as empty

as an ocean during monsoon season.

No matter how hard I try to make all the words fit,

I can't be sure I've touched them all.

How do I go about,

How do I go about, not looking behind at the steps I have just made,

hoping I have not lost another on the way?

My sister asked about moths

My sister asked about moths but I think she meant people.

I think she mistaked a moth

I think she mistaked a moth for a butterfly.

When she grows up,

When she grows up, she will know love

When she grows up, she will know love like I know love,

she will make poems out of fireflies,

she will walk as if she has not seen the entirety of the world,

standing upright as a key,

standing upright as a key, searching for a lock

that fits her like a promise.

She will know love,

She will know love, I am sure of it.

There are not many six-year-old palms

that can hold a moth,

that can hold a moth, a butterfly,

that can hold a moth, a butterfly, not many people

who can leave their sloping walls,

not knowing that the outside

not knowing that the outside is yellow wallpaper,

is an ocean,

is an ocean, monsoon season

when your feet have burrowed deep into sand,

when your feet have burrowed deep into sand, you wonder if there is a lock,

a key

a key that fits more than you do,

a key that fits more than you do, a tourist in this underwater city.

She will know all the words to this poem.

My sister let the wings go from the attic window,

My sister let the wings go from the attic window, called it a moth.

I knew she was a butterfly.

(i.n)

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