Butterflies
Allison
There’s something
in the back of my brain
that stops
me
from speaking,
from letting my heart
talk to the world.
Voices in my head
tell me not to speak,
not to let people
get too close.
The voices are like
a constant ringing
in the back of my head
that tell me
I’m not good enough,
I’m too strange
and too ugly,
too fat
to go out in the real world.
Mirrors seem too
real,
reflections too hard
to look at
because of those
voices
that say
“I can’t.”
Friends try to reassure me
that I am pretty,
kind,
smart.
They try to pull
my mask off,
but my mask
is molded to my face,
is a part
of my face.
They try to give me
words
that break shells
to reveal butterflies,
but I’m afraid.
I’m afraid that
I can’t be a butterfly,
that I’ll be stuck
in my chrysalis
forever.
I’ll never emerge
from the encasing that I
created;
I’ll never emerge
as a
butterfly.
The shell is too
thick.
Family
tells me that soon,
I’ll emerge from
the chrysalis
of self-conscious
adolescence
before I know it.
But it’s so hard,
so difficult to
ignore the pushes
and pulls
of society,
the pressure
to have a tiny waist
and a pretty face.
I don’t have either.
I have mask
and I feel the need
to work out
and go on a diet,
but it never works
for me.
I see all these people
on social media
that are confident
and better than me,
and I want to be like them.
But the voices
inside my head
want me to be afraid.
Every day,
they weave the mask
that’s on my face
and shape
the way I look at things
through my eyes.
Voices
tell me to follow
society
when I yearn
to follow my heart.
My brain,
my vision,
my thoughts
are tainted from years
of believing
I’m useless.