the vengeance of seagulls

the butterflies
have morphed into
seagulls these days.
aggressive,
all at once,
with a vengeance for
whatever they can find.
never about specificity,
but about big ideas,
and hopeless dreams;
about things so beyond
anything predictable.

the seagulls
ravage my body,
tearing apart limb from
torso from limb like an
abandoned french fry
on a beach.
you never realize how heavy
your head is until your neck
no longer wants to carry it;
you never realize how heavy
your existence is
until you want to crawl out of
your own body to get some space,
shed your skin, leave it behind
as an offering to the seagulls, and start
anew.
you beg your body for
a quiet moment,
for a peaceful thought,
for a good night’s sleep.
the seagulls
are not done,
and there are more of them
than you.

it is loud
and chaotic here,
as it almost always has
been.
not even you could
save me from this;
distract me yes,
save me–never.
not even I can
save me from this;
distract myself yes,
save myself–

someday I hope
to be a lovely
butterfly garden,
instead of a
taped off scene
of dismemberment
set to the tune of my
own self destruction.
I hope that the seagulls
fly away one day,
and never find their way
back.
that when I shed my
skin again,
they can no longer
recognize me in the
vengeance they once had.

See me for something
new, because I’m trying.
See me for exactly how
I am, because that’s
what you get. Come
to me each day, heart open.
Love me where I stand
today and do not
pack me up in a box
to be opened when you’re ready.
I will not be here.

To be a lovely garden of
oxalis triangularis purple shamrock,
a ray of smiles on a cloudy day,
a raindrop in a drought;
that is my dream.
To shed this skin
that holds me back,
and keeps me
wedged between
my worst habits and
my past.
To realize
I no longer want to stay
crammed between
everything I’ve ever let down.

I am trying to shed
so I can cocoon and
become something
bigger than
what I have
ever offered.
Bigger than
the seagulls.