She was just a caterpillar before,
But now she is a butterfly like you.
And as I wither away into my cocoon,
I hope that, someday, I'll be a butterfly too.

Creeping
Crawling
Squirming
Scrawling
Clear and sticky thread

Might he crawl
Upon your wall
At midnight covered
In specks of
Crimson red

Seen and you
Might **** it too
This dreadful pest
Ends many lives
And won’t stop till it’s fed

Many limbs
With which it climbs
With jaws sharp
And poison great
No cure, it is said

Reading this poem you may
Be likely to think and say
A frightening, deadly spider
But no! It is a caterpillar
On which you should not tread

(I) have always seen you differently
You have never (lied) to me
(You) have such pure intention and
I am not used to honesty
As the caterpillars (are) changing
You remain the same
Think they are (perfect) anyways
That is....
Special
But (to) be frank
I do not need you
I am a caterpillar and I can manage on my own
Grow on my own.
I shall go on being (me)
And you can have your flaws young man.
I don't need a mirrored dream.

Lucky.

Some people would look at this little life of Grace and think, ****, she is lucky. Of course, you know better, don't you, Wonderland? You know what goes on in my hodge-podge head where the rainbows lament and the killers dance.

So come and tell me what my kiss tastes like. I want to know if the poison is evident or I'm just the one who can feel it.

Skeletons twirl on my walls, and that's not a metaphor. I literally have neon skeletons dancing on my walls. That's just the type of person I am.

No where. That's where we're going right now, with wonderful gibberings of a lost cockatoo, so lost she found herself in a young woman's body.

Lost little Grace, trying to find her place in the world, just like her beloved Alice. Yet Alice was always free of Wonderland at the end of the night. Or was she? She did always gravitate towards the insane place, maybe she's just as trapped as Grace.

Musings of the world as I grow, from young little wide-eyed girl to the woman I am today. A young woman, albeit, a naive, wide-eyed woman with too much hope in her heart, but a woman nonetheless.

The scars of your love leave me breathless. Oh no, no they don't. I hope mine have left you dead.

Still bitter I am how my caterpillar betrayed me. Have I not told this story? How in the dark of the night he found solace in the wings of another, to leave me blind to his deception. Thank the gods the March Hare had the sense to enlighten me.

Now I spend my nights in the arms of other, and I could not be happier. Never one solid man, never one stationary enough to become a character of Wonderland. But there enough so the loneliness does not creep up on me in the waking hours of the moon.

Stars are my companions now, yes, that's what they are. I am always stargazing and sometimes, when I'm lucky, I share my pantomimed sleep with them, pantomimed for of course I do not sleep.

So perhaps I am lucky, for I am a Grace surrounded by stars, and at the moment, I would not have it any other way.