Caterpillars and Butterflies

I don't remember
when I last saw you as
just another girl on her
way out with a friend.

These days, I have always seen you
as a metaphor of many good things,
a simile like this line of free verse.

I am happy for you.

My insides stir with caterpillars
wriggling in cocoons as butterflies
waiting to come out in the light,
just as yours have as I've seen today.

I am happy that you look very well.

My eyes grow bright as you glow
even when my skin breaks out in rivers
under this cover of night and dream
and lack of sleep.

My fingers twist like grapevines
and freeze as I try to find words that mean
nothing and everything all at once and on their own,
as I savour the beauty that I was shown
along Salcedo, under the Italian flag.

I am happy,
as I was afraid last night
that I have once again caused you pain
through semi-random thoughts put on screen
about saying nothing and never changing.

But while that still stands,
I will thank Severinus Boethius for intersessions
that he must have made in all the days
that I prayed to one day see you unafraid.

Always be brave in your happiness—
and shine your brightest.