laying on hospital thin bedsheets,
i am a butterfly with its wings pinned —
spread open for dissection.
here, a curious entomologist
examines the forbidden crevices
of my tiny body. here, she will discover
her shame and birth mine.
her fingers are deft,
she plants a seed
deep inside the hollowed
cavity of my thorax.
pollinated by my despair,
it will flower into rotten fruit.
she promises to treasure me -
another painted specimen
for her display. her hypothesis
a butterfly never flies again.