Misdiagnosis 15/30

I embraced the butterflies that set up residence in my stomach on the eve of our first kiss
That is, until I became an activist
Now the whole world thinks I'm sick
Recklessly bingeing on the idea of you & purging our memories
But that ain’t it
I ain’t sick
I just stuck my finger down my throat to set them free

Let them shake from their wings the residue of putrid spoiled love
Long processed but never digested
Just settling in the pit of my gut
Rising around the butterflies’ feet
Sloshing around the edges of their wings
And as they pushed their feathery extensions toward Heaven praying for release
I assumed that the feelings I felt were of joy & contentment
But the butterflies were no longer content and that meant no relief for me
And with their lives in the balance they warranted their right, their need to be free
And so now you see how it had nothing to do with him
But it had everything to do with the activist in me

So, as not to seem a hypocrite, I did the only decent thing
And though to the outside world it may have looked like I was
Recklessly binging on the idea of you and purging our memories
That was never the case
I simply stuck my finger down my throat
Cause that was the only way to set them free
Plus, the way I figure
The butterflies shouldn’t have to pay for my bad choices in consumption…


(c)j.claude'10-Phoenix-