The Butterfly

Sometimes when you write a lot, you need a break. Sometimes, for that break, you write something different. Here’s a short poem I wrote during a break from writing.*

*Yeah. I know that doesn’t really make sense.

 

The Butterfly

The smell was awful. The pain was intense. I lost control of my bike, and rode headlong into the fence.

My mood was besoured. I’d lost all my glee! I cursed the insolent God who’d let this happen to me.

I saw nothing but squiggles. My glasses were cracked. I tripped over the bike, and hit a rock with my back.

My ears were still ringing. My face was aflame. I knew without checking, it was one part injury and two parts shame.

My tongue was so dry. I tasted blood, dirt and grass. I picked up the bike, and rode away from the crash.

I rode swiftly for home. I felt the wind in my hair. I kept gaze forward, and avoided the stares.

I entered the parlor. Mom said, “How was the race?” I stuttered and stammered, “I caught a yellow butterfly with my face.”

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3 responses to “The Butterfly

  1. I like that poem a lot!

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