Be a beautiful butterfly, they say

Be everything that is different,

Be exactly who you are

And don’t ever let anyone decide for you,

They say

But how can the butterfly spread her wings

When she is bound by expectations and things

That do not reflect who she is

How can she fly away and experience

All the beauty life has to offer her

If she is constantly thrown into a case

Wings pinned, to be observed

Don’t judge others, they say

Get to know their fears and desires

Before you decide who they are

Don’t judge a book by its cover,

They say

But how can the butterfly be who he is

And be expected to not tie others down

Low to ground where other terrors lie

How can we all be butterflies

Having our own colors painting our wings —

While we fly — If we, too, are always being told

That who we are is wrong

How can any of us be butterflies

If others are always swatting us with their eyes?

How can we expect to paint the sky with our colors

If we will not accept those of others?

I am a f*cking butterfly.

I will paint the sky with all of my

Colors blended together

With the colors of others

Because our wings are not meant to be the same.