butterfly wings

A butterfly cannot see it's own wings, that's why I cling onto a mirror of all things. I see myself but without the colour, just like I feel without my lover. You cannot see your own potential, without help, without credential. Cannot see your own true talent, without an ugly old used pallete. That's why I paint, that's why I write, to prove to myself that my teachers weren't right, when they said I couldn't make it, if I didn't try to fake it. The miserable thoughts of a teenage girl, caught up in a web-like swirl, trying to be who she's not, tying her mind into a knot, of being the perfect daughter, making her way out of the slaughter, of her own complicated mind. She cannot see her own wings, as they're being torn away, along with her childhood and her things, but still she's forced to stay...