The Butterfly Project
You see them,
Butterflies all along my arm.
You do not know why they're there,
You just get angry because I've marked myself.
Dearest Mother,
Do not yell.
For the butterflies hide something much worse.
I could have chosen not to take the Sharpie to my skin,
But had I done that,
I would have taken a razor to my skin.
The delicate pale skin was decorated years ago,
It is no longer a big deal to me.
You did not know then,
You would not know now.
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