FRACTURED WINGS

I once called myself a wounded butterfly, A creature broken, with wings that couldn't fly. My heart was heavy, my soul was worn, A delicate dance, between pain and scorn. My wings, once vibrant, now dull and gray, Reflected the turmoil, that raged each day. I struggled to soar, to rise above, But the weight of my wounds, kept me grounded, in a world of love. I felt like a butterfly, emerging too soon, My wings still fragile, my heart in tune. The world was harsh, and unforgiving, it seemed, And I, a wounded butterfly, couldn't escape the scream. But still I dreamed, of flying high, Of spreading my wings, and touching the sky. I yearned to be free, to dance on the breeze, To leave my wounds behind, and find my ease. And though I'm still healing, though my wings are still weak, I'm learning to fly, to rise above the shriek. I'm finding my strength, my voice, my way, And slowly, I'm transforming, into a brighter day. I'm no longer just a wounded butterfly, But a resilient soul, with wings that can fly. I've learned to navigate, the ups and downs, And though my wings may still bear scars, they've found their way to the sun.