I wish to have the capabilities of a butterfly.
To leave an empty shell and fly far away.
I do not mean to traverse space,
I do not mean to flee home.
I simply seek to remove the shell of my past,
and to leave this bitter cage.
I know I'm not trapped,
There are no bars to keep me in,
It's a mentality.
It should be easy to take off and fly.
But this caterpillar is stuck munching it's leaf,
rather than to seek new heights.

Weeaboo.
Owning this geeky word was not something I immediately understood.
Coming from a school where geeks were castaways,
with Otaku and weeb being even worse terms than that.
But now she, who loves video games, and cartoons
- a geek herself, dare I say, -
calls me a not only a weeaboo,
a term revered here,
but a failed one.
Many references I lack to see,
My circle of watched media is constrained,
me being the picky geek that I may be.
The simple act of putting on fluffy ears that I deem kawaii,
She takes as the action of a 'furry'.
I rarely see memes, something that not only geeks look at,
but social media as well,
yet she acts as though it lies within the domain of otakus.
Saying ohauyo, tadima, or even simply arigato,
gives me a snide reply of, "freaking weeb"
Making pebbles into boulders is her specialty.

Beep* Beep Beep
My arm flies for the alarm.
I groan and turn over in bed.
It's another one of those days.
It's another one of those weeks.
A clumsy lazy week where tiredness is absolute.
Forgetfulness stands above all else.
Forgetting my key, walking in the wrong direction,
When was dinner again?
I lost myself in time as I painted most the evening away.
...
Wait .. What was I writing about?

I never expected this.
Never knew she had the capability.
To understand other's feelings,
I believed she'd never try to get me,
But for once, she thought of me.
A trait previously inept for her,
Now seems to make it's way to the stage.
Posting images to me that she thinks I'll enjoy,
One with a cute cat watch,
One of shirts my favorite hue.
Her newest love has her starstruck,
I doubt it'll last,
though I wish it would.
She is finally pleasant to speak to,
I had to put up a mask of a loving, jovial daughter,
When really, speaking to her made me sick.
Now she shares her happiness with me.
She finally understands some of the things I like.
19 years have passed,
But she's making the effort.
Her new love speaks to me,
Wishing to meet me,
A rare trait within her selection.
Fingers crossed,
Hope once more visible,
I wish this may last.
So sick of hoping,
So bored of her drama,
Done with the disappointment,
I once more foolishly yearn for things to end differently.

Before it was arguing and disagreements that lent it's time to them,
but now that contact was scarce little jokes that made up their conversation.
Anything from her inability to speak english,
or the creation of her own language that couldn't be English nor Japanese, but somewhere in-between had taken up their messages,
crossing the screen back and forth.
A few weeks ago it could've been laughter over a text book assignment her teacher gave her,
and last night,
it was about how much she craved pizza from the Snack Shack and mom's home made dippin' Chicken.
The reply being something along the lines of, "Me cook"
pursued by bubbly laughter.
it's these little jokes and joys that help.

The moon shimmered,
a light at the bottom of a dark pool.
It's darkness lingered,
shallowing the nearby objects,
blurring them as it gorged on it's late night snack.
The trees bent towards the path,
Some branches being illuminated,
some already a part of the feast.
The wind caressed her hair,
as she made her way home in the dim lamp light.
A cold fall night had captured her interest.