These butterflies are
Turning into antelope
Stampeding inside

My Olive Beef comes from my grief
Up my feet and into my teeth
In my stomach is where is lies,
Until it resides, is when I die.

I inherited my mothers unnecessary fear
It is unfolding as we speak, inside
I am going forth courageously
In my stomach it's moving side to side.

The weight is heavier
Than I thought I could carry
Even seated, brings me down
And now I am growing wary.

Not delicate or weak anymore
Fighting this made me strong
I am a servant to my burden
Dragging worry painstakingly along.

I have been taken over by this
Helpless, it lets itself in
Persuades my eyes to stare at the ceiling
Not allowing me to win.

I escape out the window
Step onto the porch inside my scattered mind
But it is only a feeble reprieve
Flimsy and shoddy, albeit intricately designed.

My head a paper-thin labyrinth
A maze of my unique making
I wander, I lose myself
Within high walls, cold and aching.

I roam to and fro, inch by inch
North or South? I do not really know
What are a hundred directions worth
If you haven't a clue where you're trying to go?

I once knew a girl,
A girl who loved to write,
she'd write poems, books, anything.

She's loved to write,
soon though she realized she wasn't a good writer,
so she started writing in red.
Red ink on the page,
the page that was her wrist,
her thighs,
her stomach.

I miss the girl who wouldn't write in red.