It begins with an urge. A roaring fire in the pit of the stomach
That burns the butterflies to a crisp and
Emits a glow through the skin.
The outer body, once frail
And worn from disguise
Relaxes. Like clockwork
The head is lifted
The shoulders
Pulled back
The face
Is freed
From smiling
Fake smiling, to
Please the observers.
The fire spreads, doesn’t burn
The flesh but releases energy, acceptance, she becomes undone