I have discovered that in fact
I am not human.
I am a moth.

I flutter through life on a pair of worn out, brown wings.
I fly too close to the light
and get burnt.
I suppose that is why my skin has so many holes.

Sometimes I watch the butterflies and think
that they must have it all.
But all they know is their tiny cocoon

and I am never alone.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems

Share This Poem