Butterflies

I'm in love with butterflies but not with their caterpillars
I hate that awkward stage that is called ugly before the beautiful
That period in our lives where we stand in front of the mirror, pinching
The little stomach fat between slim fingers, with criticising voices in our heads.
I want to sleep in that cotton thin cocoon like a baby in his crib
And dream of nothing but the scent of daisies and honey.
Not having to over analyse body language and words spoken
Merely because I'm overly self conscious.
I want to quickly become someone else that is actually
Myself but in the future, standing tall with wings of a swallowtail.
Is it possible to skip through time and not have to endure the years
That are unwanted to the fragile paperthin heart?
And as a butterfly lands on my wrist, I can feel it's heartbeat
That pulses into my own like a lifeline that's promising
A love that is platonic and something more
Something that cannot be explained by mere words
But an action.

And I still wonder what's it's like to emerge from an eternal sleep
With wings so new that's dripping wet like the rain that is
Clumsy as a toddler's first walk to their waiting mother.
Tell me, that people don't whisper behind my back that word
That is my most feared and maybe they don't.
Maybe it's all in my head, those snickering smiles that don't reach their eyes.
Those people aren't really standing on the other side of my bedroom mirror
Mimicking and pretending to be a me that is unbearable to see.
But there is no one.
Just me.

An insecure and easily wounded girl who is waiting for that cocoon
To wrap layers of magic and wishes to mould her into someone she can love.
She wants to quickly run away from the caterpillar that crawls inside her
And morph into thousands of rainbow transparent butterflies.
That will love her past, her present and her future
Her and no other.