Most die as caterpillars, their stiff long carcass left hanging somewhere precariously, a ridge they attempted to climb that proved too much in the end for them to struggle through – incarnate no longer

Most die as caterpillars, a shadow of their possibility, many legged creature that could not find a way, even with so many legs, to overcome the most brutal of obstacles, the self from which they run, walk, and crawl

Most die as caterpillars, round, crusted, unyielding to those around them, determined instead to bowl ahead with their own agenda, lost to the possibilities not only around them, but inside them, for the greatest mystery of all was still inside them when they died

Most die as caterpillars, the undiscovered country of themselves left behind, and having lived a life whereby the greatest annoyance were the unusual creatures that occasionally fluttered by, golden wings and unstoppable spirit that soared to heights that even so many legs could not reach

Where they came from
I do not know
The caterpillars were first
Squirming up the walls of my stomach
Crawling down the sides of my intestines
Wondering and unsure
With no direction
No place to go
Some had lost hope
Some had given up
Others had simply spun themselves dizzy
They latched onto what they could
Devouring the mindless glances
Consuming the shallow smiles
Ingesting the first hello
Their compass was fogged
But it didn't stop them
They continued
Still unsure
Still lost
Inching towards what they couldn't see

Tired, they became
Stuffed with appetizers
Of floating dreams
And cautious hope
Taking a break from their journey
Resting a second or two
Mindlessly winding themselves with flirty laugher
Tightly stringing themselves with awkward conversations
Around and around
Hanging
Upside-down
Waiting
Hoping
Waiting
For something in return
A wink
A smile
A compliment
Something
Anything

You'll know when it happens
The wink that lets the first one loose
The smile that releases the second
The complement unravels the third
You feel them
They flutter around your organs
Tease your kidneys
Dance on your heart
Swing on your ribs like monkey bars in a jungle gym
They won't stop
Not even for a second

When he calls you on the phone for the first time
You try to contain them
Not let them out all at once
But you can't help it
They shake your insides
Until they get what they want
Until the rest are set free
Hundreds, maybe thousands
Bouncing in your stomach
Like a jumper at a 5 year-old’s birthday party
You want to run
You want to scream
You want to be at that 5 year old’s birthday party
Doing flips in the bounce house
You don't know what to do with yourself
The butterflies gave you energy you didn't know you had
You have to be quiet
You can't make it obvious
You have to be cool
But the butterflies just hit open the piñata to the party in your stomach and you're missing out on all the candy

They plaster a smile on your face
It won't come off
No matter how hard you try
You can't speak
You don't know what to say
You can speak
You say too much
You talk too fast
Your cheeks are rosy
Your face is warm
You're shaking just a little
You feel overwhelmed with emotion

It's because of the butterflies
They have taken over
They dominate your stomach first
Then swarm to your heart
There was a vacancy in your heart you realize
You never noticed it before
Until just now
Because you feel it being filled
Almost up to the brim
With what, you do not know
But there is a loss of emptiness
You're sure you feel it
It's pouring in like lemonade into a pitcher
You try to describe it
But you can't
First hellos
Shallow smiles
Mindless glances
Flirty laughter
Rosy cheeks
The remembrance of the lost caterpillars
The numbness you feel in your body
The happiness you feel in your bones
The butterflies make your heart dance with them

You realize you've never felt this way before
You've had butterflies
But never this many
All at once

But the butterflies
They scare you a little bit
They fuel off of his presence
His jokes
His laughter
You have to nurture the butterflies
Take care of them
Give them what they want
Or they'll starve
You will try to save them
But they will become weak
Frail
Fragile
And die
Taking with them
The rosy cheeks
The sweaty palms
The fluttering heartbeat
Leaving behind hollow wings in the pit of your stomach
Leaving the sorrow feeling of lost hope
Leaving a hole in your heart more vacant than the last
After the butterflies have disintegrated into tears
Before the caterpillars have reappeared
The feeling of emptiness
Saddened loneliness
Like you've never felt it before
You realize the risk you're taking
Allowing the butterflies to play with your emotions
You tell yourself it's worth it
He's worth it

You take a deep breath
And feel them flutter around
Bumping into each other
Knocking into your rib cage
Tumbling across your stomach

These are the butterflies
They control you
Consuming your appetite
Devouring your sleep
Distracting your focus
But you don't mind
You like them
They make you happy
Thrilled
Overjoyed
Intoxicated

You can't blame yourself for these butterflies in your stomach
It's him
He directed the unsighted caterpillars
He confused them until they couldn't take it
And he released the alluring butterflies that took over your body

So I blame him for the butterflies that are bouncing in my stomach

And he can blame me for the butterflies that are tickling his heart

When I see you
I get caterpillars in my stomach
Not grown enough to be butterflies
But alive enough
    To make me feel sick

The constant crawling
A thousand tiny legs
Scurrying up my esophagus
Ready to throw up
A feeling too real to ignore
And too nauseating to admit

So when I see you again
I’ll just keep my mouth shut
Live with the taste of dirt on my tongue
And swallow the caterpillars
   That live in my stomach.

When caterpillars are born
They just, they all look the same
Just like how babies are born
Coming out of their mothers
Womb, they cry, scream,
They feel helpless.

But we were taught at a
Young age that we need
To be independent, but how
Can we be independent if
We don’t feel like we are
In our own body
Just like how caterpillars are
Colored to to resemble their
Surroundings. We hide behind
A mask, we pretend that
Everything is okay
But there are teens out there
Reaching for that blade or
Another bottle just one more
Time

But that one time
May be their last breath

Caterpillars make
Cocoons just like
How teens hide in
Their rooms,
They say I’m fine
But if you look into
Their eyes you
See darkness, there’s
No life left in them

It’s hard, we say we
Don’t need help but we’re
Screaming for it


We hide in our cocoons and
We comfort ourselves but it’s
The wrong kind of comfort
We rely on that bottle or
That blade rather than someones
Ear or their shoulder

We hide who we are
We want to fit in so
We pretend to be beautiful
We pretend to be happy
We put up that wall, just like caterpillars

We don’t see our true
Colors
We don’t see how
Beautiful we are

The darkness is scary

But we...we give up
Until we see that light,
That light saves us
It cracks open a new
Beginning

We put down that blade and
We put down that bottle
And we pick up
Our journals, and our pencils

Caterpillars come out on the
Other side, they bloom
We bloom, we open up our
Wings and take off
We become butterflies

We plucked eyebrows
from the clover.
Caterpillars
contracting as
we pinched each one
between our plump
baby fingers,
expanding as
we lined them on
each other’s arms—
wooly train cars.
They would ripple
blindly, segment
by segment, scoot
across the floor
of the rusty
coffee can we’d
prepared for them
so carefully—
braided hairs of
grasses, flowers,
twigs, stones and all—
a crude and cruel
imitation
of their clover,
but certainly
better, somehow.

We were sure.

Flash back to grade four, sitting in my room, listening to Fall Out Boy and My Chemical Romance. Pin up posters of Pete Wentz and Gerard Way filled my room. (Thanks a lot, Tiger Beat.)
My sister held out her pinky saying, "Promise me you'll never be emo."
Fifth grade me, not even know what emo meant, intertwined our pinkies.

Flash forward to grade six, sitting in my room, listening to Fall Out Boy and My Chemical Romance. Pin up posters of Pete Wentz and Gerard Way filled my room. (Thanks a lot, Tiger Beat.)
My tiny pale wrist appeared to be a canvas for art. I wanted to draw a self portrait; a sad little girl with big dreams, no friends, a mommy with a heart condition and a daddy that didn't love her.
I took a tack from my wall and began to paint my wrist with blood.

Flash back to grade five, when wen we spent all our time on the soccer field behind the school.
Whether we were playing soccer or picking at the leaves that hung by the fence, every recess we were there.
Sometimes the older kids would come along, if not just to bug us.
Eighth grade meant swearing and spitting.
My best friend was always braver than I was. I remember her saying "the Earth has never tasted anything as vile as your spit."
I swallowed down my own saliva.

Flash forward to the eleventh grade, where we spent all our time in the smoker's pit in front of the school.
Whether we were smoking cigarettes or waiting for someone to finish, ever lunch break we were there.
Sometimes people would walk through us to get to the bus stop.
Ninth grade meant coughing as much as you could just to let everyone know you were ******* about breathing the smoke filled air.
No one was brave anymore. We were all cowards, our vile, nicotine infused spit hitting the pavement in front of us.
I stepped on my cigarette ****.

Flash back to first semester, grade nine, hearing about people I used to know doing drugs and hooking up.
I said I couldn't believe it. These people that I used to know. I couldn't believe Sarah was doing drugs. She was so pure and innocent.
I promised my best friend I would never do anything.
She promised me she wouldn't either.

Flash forward to second semester, grade nine, doing drugs and hooking up.
I said it was just a coping mechanism. The person that you used to know was still there. I'm still pure and innocent.
I promised my best friend I was okay.
She asked me if I was high.

Flash back to my first day of kindergarten. Letting go of my mom's hand for the first time.
The caterpillars in my stomach had turned into butterflies for the first time.
I kissed my mom goodbye and finally, like the caterpillars in my stomach, I broke through my cocoon.
For the first time in my life, I was free to spread my wings and fly.

Flash forward to my last day of high school. Wrapping my arms around friendships I had worked so hard to build and saying my final goodbyes.
The caterpillars in my stomach had turned into butterflies for the second time.
I shook my teacher's hand and took my diploma and finally, like the caterpillars in my stomach, I broke through my cocoon.
For the second time in my life, I was free to spread my wings and fly.

the thoughts never go
i realize you are unavailable,
not because you are with someone
your lack of remorse hurts.

i don't desire to stroke your ego
so i merely keep it concealed;
although every time i visit you,
the caterpillars in my stomach develop wings.

your intoxicating chorus
eases my anxious mind;
your tender kiss
absorbed directly into my veins…

but i know i am not the
one who helps you fall asleep,
for i am a man who writes
about heartbroken cries

we as men don't want to hear that ****
for intimacy and emotional exposure is dangerous
and with so much at stake
why would you make your emotional sentiments so public

because of you
you, you, you, you, you
i obviously cannot tell you
so if someone resonates with me

i can feel love from someone, somewhere.

Caterpillars are simply butterflies
who have not learned to fly the skies
Creatures who are temporarily earth bound
without the means to leave the ground

I saw one by circumstance
It died before it had a chance
To transform and spread its wings
So sad to me, this lifeless thing

It reminds me how our wings must spread,
If not, we are found left for dead
We were never meant to crawl in the mire
We were meant to fly higher and higher

When I was a kid, and all of my friends were kids, and all of us kids lived down the same street that I still live on as a not kid that none of my kid friends still live on as not kids, there was a day in the summer, or the spring....
my not kid brain has a hard time conjuring up my kid thoughts, I just remember walking outside and it was so hot
And we fetched our bikes from the shed and walked them to the blacktop only to find the greatest gift nature could bring us: a thousand tiny caterpillars crawling on the road. We couldn't ride our bikes in the street or we would squish them so we dropped them where we stood and did the only thing we knew we should: ran inside and asked mama for the ziplock bags and collected as many as we could. We thought we were saving them from any cars that might need to go down our dead end road. We didn't know what to do with them so we kept them in the bag and left them in my kid friends parents living room, sealed tight so nothing could get to them.
The next morning we went to check on them and the bag was empty.

Looking back now, I realize we probably deprived them of oxygen, starved them of nutrients and space, and probably separated them from their families.

I feel bad about that, but that's not the point. The reason I am recalling this memory and putting it into words is because I've had an epiphany.
They were robbed a chrysalis, they never flew away as beautiful butterflies.
They slept overnight in a bag with many others, waiting to puddle and flutter before they chewed their way through plastic or they died.

What we did as kids to those caterpillars, it's how I love..
Sometimes I find caterpillars in the pits of people's stomachs and my intrigue is spiked like a child's with wonder, but I always pluck the caterpillars before they get too far..

Maybe I'm a secret sleepwalker and I unconciously let them go.
I sure hope so.

Change is necessary.
Right?

Change is a good thing?
Right?

Change is
Scary and confusing.

Change scares the hell out of me.
Change leaves me in a state of frustration.

Change can heal the soul and tear it apart.
Leaving little pieces scattered about.

But I must think of little caterpillars that turn into beautiful butterflies.

Change is necessary.

The beginning of a story
Read with me, if you desire
At dawn a huge explosion
Filled the void with fire,
Cooled and hardened into rock,
Orbits now another star,
A life sustaining prison
Caterpillars in a jar.

A thousand, thousand, thousand years,
Then a thousand, thousand more
Passed as though an eye blink
Before a creature crawled to shore.
What miracle was engineered?
Creating ocean from a fire,
Creating algae in the ocean,
And life from muck and mire?

Was the engineer benevolent?
With a careful laid out plan?
Or is the earth a failed experiment
Where the byproduct is Man?
And if Man was unintended
What results were meant to be?
Would earth have been a better place
With just oceans, land and trees?

Maybe chemical reactions,
On this random, rolling stone
Were responsible for all its life
Chemicals alone.
Astronomic odds against it,
But the odds of Heaven are high as well.
I cannot comprehend it.
That story someone else must tell.
Phil Lindsey June, 2015

.
1
death dirges

Frogs in distance sing  .  .  .
Foxes, herons, join in too,
  .  .  .  A round of croaking.



2
love gifts

Her gift of flowers  .  .  .
Came at night without garden,
  .  .  .  Were picked in bedroom.



3
twins demure

Full moon and she  .  .  .
Beauties without crescent smile,
  .  .  .  Naked in starlight.



4
light music

Before even sun  .  .  .
Gleam opens to paint each day,
  .  .  .  Beauty in birdsong.



5
iridescent

After sun showers  .  .  .
Sparkle of rainbow colours,
  .  .  .  Busy hummingbirds



6
chilling

Hollow sound through trees,
Naked and bare branches sway,
  .  .  .  Old winter creeping.



7
flirting

She wanted a child  .  .  .
Rushed from one suitor to next,
  .  .  .  Clock set to maybe.



8
super villain

Truth once singular  .  .  .
Mucked all up with politics,
  .  .  .  In cowl of falsehoods.



9
casualties

Blood spills in gardens  .  .  .
Naïve worms torn from loose grounds,
.  .  . Red robins, green lawns.



10
stigmata

Each spring miracle  .  .  .
Trees blessed by caterpillars gifts,
  .  .  .  Holey hands of leaves.



11
consecrations

Ripples lead to bows  .  .  .
After fish breaks the water,
  .  .  .  A kingfisher dives.



12
constancy

Steadfast as always  .  .  .
Wildflower in sun and rain,
  .  .  .  Showing true colours.



13
roommates

Chaste lovers wonder  .  .  .
How bodies weather the cold,
  .  .  .  Never knowing touch.



14
swept away

Suddenly we kissed  .  .  .
At beach as tides rolling in,
  .  .  .  Drowning by ocean.



15
seductress

Her red hair so long  .  .  .
Brushing my face, hiding eyes,
  .  .  .  A kind entrapment.
.