When Scars Take Flight
The caterpillar never prayed—
it coiled around the bark,
turned aside the whimpers of wings a-flutter,
and created a moat of silence.
Promises? It made none—
to itself or to the universe.
Transformation was not a melody or a plea,
just the still rebellion of survival.
As the chrysalis cracked open,
it wasn’t a triumph. It bore no grace.
It was escape—raw, fierce,
and unapologetically its own.
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