The Sinner, Saint, and Lover

I’ve NEVER looked 
   at myself as anything special 
 although I ALWAYS knew 
     I held a higher purpose 
 that the universe is larger 
     than me, placed to serve 
the path to normalcy was one 
to be a slightly bit 
     corrupted avenue 

How does one reconcile 
   who they were; and, who they 
         are meant to be?!

   Feathers and roots 
 how is that possible, secrecy 
     does nothing good 

     Silence echos misery 
  thoughtless, callous, unable 
     to escape the torment 

  How far can one scroll back 
through text messages 
    to no longer need to rewind
  a brief moment of pause 
   offers with it the weighted 
       realization 

  Not everyone is sculpted 
     equally; nevertheless, are offered 
  the tools within themselves 

   I lived in fear of EVERYTHING 
my brain couldn’t settle, resilience 
  reveals its underbelly with a spiked 
     guard, an extra layer of          
            protection 

Is it ok in life to acknowledge 
    our truest of worth? 

And hope to not be laughed 
    at, to understand the sins of the mother do not impact 
    that of daughter 

    And that said daughter
  is able to surpass her mother’s 
     miserable existence. Not an 
   ounce of arrogance outlined, 
 to those parents on this planet 
    who are obtuse to the individuals
  there children are at present 
     have already revealed them 
  as crypt keepers galore 

      An intrinsic desire 
  to manifest a metamorphosis 
     of epic being, this butterfly 
  whose wings had been savagely 
      ripped of, held together 
  with duck tape are ready 
     to open and fly 

Nearly two decades ago, I wrote 
   about a little butterfly that kept 
       a constant tap sound 
  on the glass enclosure 

     I gently took her wings 
  an brought her to an open 
 space to fly freely 
     there is a reason I have 
  an affinity for butterflies 
      that story I’ll save 
  for another day