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I feel so many butterflies right now,
But not necessarily the ones you would want.
More of like
A bunch of butterflies who are on
Their last push, and they have been pushing and fighting
To get the fuck out, but my stomach continuously encloses on them
Forcing them to suffer
Because it hurts so good.
I feel the fallen cocoons swaying
Waiting to be dispersed fairly;
They did their jobs.
Now they are empty souls
Echoing what was.
I’m confused how they are multiplying
When no life is being offered,
But I accept it.
Sometimes it’s better not to know,
But to move forward.
So, I breathe.