I have been nothing other than a butterfly.
My wings were constantly touched because they glistened.
Under the sun , the moon and stars.
The transfer of my sparkle to your fingertips was harmful.
My wings became weak and fragile.
Breaking under the smallest amounts of pressure.
My mind cried for help as the feeling of life slowly vanished.
My body broke itself to keep to the standard of perfection.
As a butterfly , I brought joy but I never received.