I had my phase of finding things and picking them up, of wanting to turn them in but not having the courage, a little butterfly charm at the bottom of the pool and I was always scared to put that much pressure on my ears but someone was missing their wings so I dove, and I was missing wings too so I came up sputtering and coughing and afraid to talk to anyone with the authority of Lost and Found so I left my conscience drowned and the wings closed in a fist.
And I found another thing, a butterfly charm again, mocking me, and I stayed up and hoped the guilt would fly away but 'social butterfly' is a misnomer.
I had my phase of refusing to eat anything inside of which I couldn’t see
even grapes had to be peeled and I would marvel at the spiky lines tearing through each one, angry veins in something so soft and sweet
my raisins and my juice my Friday-night wine substitute seemed so childish to me until I knew about the spikes and watched as they grew inside myself
I had my phase of being me, and it is isolating and spiky and you don't like it