All Nonfiction
- Bullying
- Books
- Academic
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Heroes
- Interviews
- Memoir
- Personal Experience
- Sports
- Travel & Culture
All Opinions
- Bullying
- Current Events / Politics
- Discrimination
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Environment
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
All Hot Topics
- Bullying
- Community Service
- Environment
- Health
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
- Back
Summer Guide
- Program Links
- Program Reviews
- Back
College Guide
- College Links
- College Reviews
- College Essays
- College Articles
- Back
Moths MAG
We were moths
with paper wings and twitching,
racing insect hearts.
They’d kept us in jars for years
feeding us less
everyday,
until we learned to live off air alone.
It hadn’t bothered us—though
until they let us go
and the whole world unfolded
like an open palm,
slipping secrets into the wrinkles of time
and the crinkles
between our eyes
and now we too,
could see
life in color.
The half-melted orange
the horizon turns just after sunset,
the half-thawed indigo
just before sunrise—
the way the sunburnt sky bruised and
turned crimson
that night we climbed
to the top of
the theatre rafters and just sat there
as the sky
peeled away to reveal
ugly grey streaks like tire marks—
and the splotchy red of your cheeks
when you tried to hold my hand
but missed
and barely caught my thumb
Will I chase
my days down with them?
The memories
I carry
on paper wings.
Will I wear them
every day now,
like perfume? Drink them
greedily
like poison?
Even as your twitching, racing
insect heart stops beating—
Your blood pumps through them.
Similar Articles
JOIN THE DISCUSSION
This article has 0 comments.