I dissected a sheep in biology
no one understood what it meant to me,
but it was because I'd never held one myself.

Scouring bleach and formaldehyde
can never disguise the sickly sweet beat of butterflies
that lies, oh so quietly, on the shelf.

I had one too, some time ago,
and I've tossed pennies and blown for wishes.
But somehow now I've made my peace
with never getting it back

I sat on a playground of chlorine stained rocks,
swinging my legs, wearing mismatched socks.
Golden waves of grain swept before my eyes,
I blindly wept, it slipped out of my grasp, did not break, but was lost.

A second time, another demise,
at a grocery store on roland and thirty-sixth,
green eyes hypnotized and called me legend,
but then placed it neatly back on the shelf.