every time you asked me
to open up,
i'd make an excuse
not to show you.
because i knew if i did
no one, not even you,
would understand
how it felt to do so.
because i knew if i pried apart
my rib cage
and opened the door
to my heart,
all the butterflies and moths
that gathered there,
hiding behind my bloody thorns
would finally be free.
but i knew if i did that
all anyone would do
is swat and push them faraway
and you, my dear, wouldn't catch them
to hold dearly to your heart.
and that's saddening to know.
so the next time
you ask me to open up,
expect the same answer,
another excuse or lie to
hide and keep my
butterflies and moths
trapped inside.
YOU ARE READING
tragedy
Poetry[a collection of poetry] tragedy (n.) 1) an event causing great suffering, destruction, and distress, such as a serious accident, crime, or natural catastrophe. 2) dealing with a serious or somber theme, typically that of a great person desti...
