dead butterfly (a poem by Jack)

We were’t made for this.. So, trust me, I feel your pain.. 

Here but not quite here.. 

Awkwardly sticking out of each situation.. No matter how hard you try.. You never quite get it..your vibe doesn’t quite synchronize…

And deep down inside, you understand why they smirk.. 

It’s just too bad you want to smirk with them, instead of smirking at em..

Alone isn’t solitude for you.. It’s a place called home.. Because you are a feeler.. You feel all of the sentiments that the shadows provide and whatever bull shit the shadows have to offer.. And despite it all, you’re comfortable with the shadows, because they never criticize and always acknowledge you..

A thin layer of fat provided a small buffer between you in the world.. A small bottle blurred the noise… But you grew addicted to the disconnect.. 

Heck you never fit in anyway..

Now the thin layer has multiplied exponentially (corpulently plump they say) , and to touch your soul one would have to bust through a wall… One bottle turned into two.. No sound can get through..

She’s an island all to herself.. And believe me.. I understand …

The allure of the disconnect feels simple enough.. Just the pain one unsure soul is meant to bare.. But this does not provide the truth of the matter.. Just the narrative you’ve been told and so elegantly lived out… Who can save you but yourself? Who can love you without touching you?

And who can save one who wishes not to be saved… A self-referential cycle of torment, a quicksand to pride.. No way out.. The more you struggle the further you drown… So no longer fight who you are.. Allow the sands of time to fulfill you and like the caterpillar allow the solitude to magnify and transform your beauty..

Not deify your ugly…

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