I am a moth
Whose wings are folded paper.
Sturdy enough to fly,
yet tears with the slightest touch.
I open my wings
So, you can see the patterns.
Let you see vulnerability
in exchange for nectar.
You see open wings
and grab them.
pluck the edges of the paper
and release me.
I am a moth
Whose wings are healing.
Every flight ends
with wings bleeding.
Thought you were a flower,
soft and sweet.
But you were a flame
burning holes
through me.
I try to fly
But your light burns too bright,
I'm blinded,
I fly straight through.
You burn my wings in two.
And
you
walk
away
while
I
scream.
Yet you told me
You loved moths
like me.
Only 15,
haunted by memory
of my wings
being ripped from me.
your handprint
burned into
where
my
wings
should
be.