Argema mittrei


Parading in your shade of grey
with fragile wings
torned to bits by the harrowing winds
of angry voices reminding you
that you are not a butterfly.

Tormenting taunts
feeds the loathing that grows inside
An assassination of a ******'s pride
reminding you that you are not a butterfly
As though moths were never meant to fly.

As if your wings didn't carry you
Across the reflections of buried moons
And how you rebuilt your tattered wings
From scattered dreams that buried you.

You are a different breed of beautiful.