I didn’t know when I lost the cocoon.

I didn’t hear it fall around me.

I didn’t remember beating my wings against the walls.

I wonder if the pieces remain, 

if the ruins are still attached to my now-foreign body.   


I don’t know what I am now; I don’t know what I am capable of. 

I miss the way I was--fuzzy, round and hungry.

Taken care of, though at the mercy of those above me.

I miss the safety of the ground--I couldn’t fall. 

I miss the many legs I’ve lost.

&amp;#x200B;

I miss hanging on 

and surprising myself with the fact 

I was still alive.

All the while knowing that the ground would hold me... 

regardless of how I got there.

&amp;#x200B;

But now, here I am alone with the wind.

No constraints but no supports.

I find myself gliding, but I never learned how to fly.

Will one wayward breeze bring me down?

&amp;#x200B;

The cost of tumbling from heights is much greater--

the shame I feel on the way down might be enough to crush me