Vibrant butterflies circled around my ancient family tree. Without permission, tired of their mission being belittled, they invaded my soul with wings of light on the day I was born, to warn that those of my past were ignorant and never listened to their message. With me, they are violent, for they would rather fade away than watch another generation pay in life for the traumas of their ancestors.

In me, they find a new vessel. Butterflies, relentless and free guiding me through ancestry.

In the sky around that tree, their beauty can’t hide. But in my gut, their wings disrupt. As they disturb my digestion I understand better how they are corrupt. With cunning masked, they seem so pure. They often test my naivety, making me believe I don’t need food.

When they enter through the throat, they block the passage of my saliva. Resting on my cords, my voice they seize. Speechless, I’m left, at risk, unease. At night they keep me awake visiting heavy memories and unfulfilled dreams. They make me dream of soaring high, yet fail to warn before I fly. To touch the sky, I must first crawl, like caterpillar, dirt and all. Breaking the bubble, setting me free, only then can I truly be.

Sometimes they manage to enter my being while I sleep, and their fluttering is the first thing I feel long before I hear the alarm ring. My heart, it races to their tune. A drumbeat in a quiet room.

They migrate towards my legs and tickle me so much, that they push me into an abyss where they deprive me of the tranquility of the present. Thrown into nowhere, lost in the mist, alone with my thoughts, on a journey I twist. No maps can guide this path unseen.

Scientists name it the future.

These creatures gifted me a prize; the gift to feel beneath the skies. A potent weapon, oft unseen, the power to grasp what life may mean. Once seen as a curse, now I reveal; It’s true worth, my life’s appeal, the title of my story, and the salvation of my future generation. What I once interpreted as a wicked spell has turned into light, guiding me through the darkest nights.

The butterflies only punish me when I resist and refuse to discover the reason for their visit.

They are merciless when I confine them in a box and try to manipulate the direction of their route. I try to control, but lose the race. The universe yields when I let go and dance in their flow. The drum melody sung by the beats of my heart never allows me to waste a second on this earth, where what is bland to many is the root of a great story for me. Butterflies guide, with their flight, and only in their rhythm I find delight.

My organs call it anxiety. I call them butterflies because they teach me how to fly in a world where one can only walk.

Butterflies, hidden gems I’ll forever posses, the only thing I love about myself.