Every moment that I’ve ever been laid low I end up listening to songs that remind me to hold on.
This girl walked into the ocean prepared to never come out. She was ready to become a fish because at least that way she could choose to swim in solitude. On land she was a butterfly with broken wings, frequently caught and held hostage in cages fabricated of fingers and human flesh on bones. Her wing colors used to be green, they represented esperanza. With every cage she became more muted until she lost that faith and the velvet went away from her wings. Now gray, like the color of dark and rainy skies she flew soul-first into the freezing water. Her wings broke away and she confined herself to her newly formed gills. As a fish she was olive green like the bucks she used to give to indulge in the gifts of life. Those very same gifts led to peace on the horizon where she could fly towards the colorful sky in the sunset and where she could rise with the sun.
Always rising and falling. The sun etched its tattoo on her skin.
Now she’s a bottom dweller and she just wants to swim with the current but the fishermen keep trying to catch her. Will she ever live again? They call her home because she provides sustenance when in reality she only wants to swim away but she can’t. Her skeleton is starting to hurt and her spine is becoming frail from the gravity pushing her down.
She wakes up in a pool of metal, iron and steel, that keep her pinned down. The scales have tipped and not in her favor. The bills grow larger as if they had a life of their own. In her throat form stones pushing down into her bleeding heart and encasing it in their harshness. She used to be green, she dreamt of being orange, but now she’s all hues of gray.
The butterfly is a distant memory.