Butterfly

"I should have kissed you."

I scoff. As if that would have changed anything.

As if your lips, cold and unfeeling, could have ever warmed mine.

As if they could have ignited a love between us that wasn't there to begin with.

If you were to kiss me it would have been for the bragging rights.

The next night, when you're with your friends at the bar,

"We kissed, you know."

A memento to prove the shriveled heart inside of you still beats.

No, I don't want your cracked lips against mine.

Papa said you could tell a man was good by where he rested his hands when you kiss.

If he rests his hands on your face he wanted you.

If his hands traced your body he wanted what you had to offer.

You didn't want me at all.

That's alright, though.

I didn't want you either.

I called what we had "love," but such a title was manufactured.

Somewhere among the prodding of friends and pity of family I decided you were the one.

I couldn't stay single forever, could I?

So I tried harder. A puzzle piece that didn't fit with those around me.

But if I snip the edges... push just a little harder... I can make myself fit....

Can't I?

When I was little I wanted to be the princess.

To look at the sky from under a wedding arch, knowing I had found "the one"

Now?

Now I just want to be alone.

I suppose we never really "broke up."

We drifted, like ashes in the summer breeze.

No yelling, no fights... just that goddamn suffocating silence.

It scares me.

We used to fight because we felt like we had something worth saving.

When that stopped there was only the corpse of what could have been-

a grotesque, shriveled thing... helpless. Hopeless.

Like a butterfly within its glass case-

the one you found on the back shelf of the dollar store after forgetting my birthday.

I will not be your butterfly, limp wings pinned to dusty corkboard.

Your nets, societies vices, will not slam down upon my dreams.

I will be a flash of color in the corner of your eye.

Intangible.

Unstoppable.

Free.