Butterfly Dance

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Can you see me?

I think I need these
Things
Sometimes
A walk to soothe my nerves
A hand to hold
A hug from a stranger
A nice warm bath…
But they never measure up to
My expectations
Because what I seek
Is not me.

Walking along a garden path
One foot
In front of
The other
Butterflies flitting
Birds chirping
A beautiful flower
O’erhangning the path
Aching to be smelled.
Not a rose
A snapdragon
Perhaps
Filled with monstrous teeth
Gnashing
to snap me up in their
Trap
And filled with
The flaming breath
Of False promises and
Fear.

Little children skipping passed
Noses down
The glow of their
iPhones
Blinding them to the
Danger
And the
Beauty
That surrounds them.
They do not see me
Trapped
Behind a
Snapdragon Smile.

Surrounded by
Multitudes
Teachers and Counselors
Engineers and Analysts,
People designed to
See and fix
The errors and flaws
And none of them see
The problem
Within me
The angry teeth
Encasing my
Heart
The false smile
Plastered
From ear to ear
The outstretched
Hands
Aching to be
Held.

 Seeking hands large enough

To scoop me up

Out of my own
Darkness
A sense
Of false security
From an outside
Force.
One strong enough to
Drag me further
Down this
Dingy Hallway
Full of smelly teens
And unused lockers.

Did I ever enjoy this?
This flitting
Butterfly Dance
Avoiding the stares
Of ignorant,
Plugged in
Monsters.
Searching for like-minded
Eyes.
Eyes equally seeking
Intelligent Intercourse
Between consenting
Adults.

 Can I speak to you?

And will you actually
Hear
Me?
Will you know me when
Our eyes meet
Across the room?
Will your
Need
Counteract the societal
Norms
That Say Strangers
Must maintain
A Safe Distance?
Or will you pull me into
You,
Needing my touch
As much as
I need yours?

I can almost feel
Your arms
Around me,
A warmth
O’ertaking the coldness.
I feel
my smile
Breaking through the
Darkness,
Only to open my eyes
To the
Truth:
Tears in a cold bath
Can be a source of
Warmth

And False hope
False security
False smiles
False promises.

But I think I need these things
Sometimes.
Because without them
Who would I be?

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