Butterfly

It's 3:45 am. We've overstayed our welcome, or at least we feel we have, and are the last two leaving the party.

I hit the restroom before we head out.

I close the door slowly.

Most of the house is a hush of tired calm, but in the adjacent room there are jokes to be made, songs to be sung, stories to be told.  

The television blares a familiar theme song while a pun gets lost in translation between the hallway and Kimmy Schmidt's lack of an education.

The door is closed.

The carpet on the other side of the door prevents the cool bathroom tiles beneath my feet from being polluted by sound.

I enter the secondary suit of the bathroom, but feel no need to turn on an extra pair of lights to highlight the bags under my eyes.

I sit.

It's been days since I've truly been alone.

Alone for enough time to realize it.

I breathe in the comforting nothingness I've grown to love so dearly.

Silence. I notice my head is throbbing, but I know it will fade soon after I leave.

The noise and sensory pollution that caused the affliction in the first place also drowned out any chance of me noticing it was there.

My body started to itch for no reason the way it will when sleep is impossible and your mind is caught on one thought.

I became aware of my body again.

Of my white knuckles, smile lines, dry skin, jitters.

Instead of floating around as the social butterfly I'm expected to be, I could finally rest my beautiful wings to focus on things prominent to reason and knowledge, instead of board games, and tired stories.

I could live inside of my own skin instead of it living for me.

My phone light up from a spam email.

The clock read 3:52.

I hadn't had time to rest those tired wings, so I decided to find out how far my mind could take me, instead.

The door opened, and I walked out.

It was almost 4:00 am and no one had any reason to search for any difference in me.

I sat in the van on the way home remembering how warm the embrace of a cocoon can be, and how much the world can change when it cracks.

This poem is about: 
Me

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741