I am small, plain, and average,
no different from any other.
Indistinguishable, insignificant,
much like one of many leaves on a tree.
It doesn’t matter if I am there or not.
I am a caterpillar.

I am impure, corrupt, and tainted,
pestilential pollution to all others.
I accumulate tallies of each thought I have,
etching marks on skin with a stinging edge.
Each anxiety branded across my veins.
I am a caterpillar.

I am bound, consumed, and trapped,
by eternal, colorless thoughts.
The noxious seeds rest in my fist,
rhythmically rising to my throat.
This is the end, I repeat to myself.
After all, I am just a caterpillar.

I am cloaked, swathed, and encased,
in a snug, shielded cocoon.
Safe and away from my toxic thoughts,
thoughts that I now realize can be reversed.
I will change, I declare to myself.
I am no longer a caterpillar.

I am free, graceful, and fearless,
for I have transformed into a unique new being.
A shedding shell no longer burdens me,
or my blossoming complexion.
It does matter that I am here.
I am a butterfly.