The caterpillar parable

Has never seemed to fit

Some people grow up naturally,

but I’m too old for it

Those fables clatter to the floor

Their morals understood

But I exist in parallel

I know not what I should

 

I am as a metaphor:

My simile is broad

I harbor symbiotic life—

But only once I’ve thawed

The winter seems eternal here

Idealism won’t fade

Maybe I’m in Antarctica

A one-way voyage: paid

 

Yet, I am not a metaphor

They can’t encompass me

I’m not defined by wizened owl

or naïve sapling tree

The universe is far too dense

It cannot be compressed

Until I’m reincarnated,

I’ll have no roots or nest

 

It happened when I realized

my life is mine alone

And didn’t let it slip my mind:

Awareness is my throne

There is no wrong side of the bed

Not even on the floor

I’ll be what I become,

Unfettered by a metaphor

 

To grow up is to lose oneself;

To modify too much;

To trade in hope for peace of mind;

Make injury one’s crutch

And so, instead: I made myself

the human I’ve become

Adult, or kid? Such rhetoric

has lost— and I have won.