Regret

Uncomfortable loveseat, Dr. B, a ghostly gaze, and a bittersweet “How’s it been?” Teary-eyed, I crumple & fold the tissue, There’s nothing to say. I’m a butterfly, he the entomologist I have become accustomed to being poked & prodded, pinned to the cork board, framed for everyone to see. Mother enters, I am the topic of discussion, “lazy” “apathetic” “immature” My eyes don’t dare leave the carpet, I’ve started to believe all of those things. When my peers metamorphosed, I was in bed, wishing I didn’t exist. Why would God make such a useless creature, A meaningless caterpillar, like me? Self-defeating, I stayed in my cocoon, While my friends made something of themselves. Painted their wings with dazzling colors, Awed their parents & accomplished marvelous dreams. I laugh at the irony, I slept my days away & never dreamed. It was more of a retreat from responsibility, Dying without the commitment. Recently, I emerged from my pocket, And everyone saw my wings, Tattered, beige, unsightly, tragic. I was nothing more than a moth. So now I swallow the pretty, pristine pill, At 5PM every day, & hope that I can forgive myself For having done nothing at all.