Stephanie Bird
Stephanie Bird Poems
When we are born, we all start out as caterpillars.
We can't fly and we need others to help us do everything.
We all look up to the tremendous butterflies and think
'Someday my turn will come and I will be like them'
...
The worst mistake that I ever made was letting you all into my world.
But I’m here to thank you.
Thank you for ignoring me, not saying hello, when every morning I talked to you.
Thank you for neglecting me, excluding me, leaving me alone.
...
I sit in my room, listening to the rain.
My thoughts are a jumble, a tangled mess of a ball of string.
I come along, playing with them, like a cat.
Trying to untangle the string.
...
The weather outside is cold, like the inside of her soul.
She thinks it will get better, it will, she is told.
But who is she to believe when her mind is at fault,
and the whisper in the trees see 'cos they're old.
...
Behind the iron gates we sit,
Quiet as ever, not daring to make a sound.
I'm writing out my letters, bit by bit,
Kneeling on the dirty ground.
...
The Best Poem Of Stephanie Bird
Butterflies Of Life
When we are born, we all start out as caterpillars.
We can't fly and we need others to help us do everything.
We all look up to the tremendous butterflies and think
'Someday my turn will come and I will be like them'
As we watch them turn and tumble, fluttering through the air and Performing tricks for us.
But what we don't realise is that the tricks aren't actually tricks,
They're obstacles stopping them to be who they are.
We are oblivious to this at our young stages, but as we start to age And we turn into butterflies ourself,
Life opens up its Venus Fly Trap and catches our wings.
We can't fly so we fall to the ground,
We are back to where we started,
But this time we're alone with no one to help us.
Alone, we learn to live in the undergrowth, below the other Butterflies that still have their wings, throwing sharp insults at us That really dig deep.
Every insult cuts into us, leaving us more and more wounded each Time, and the blade that they're using just keeps deepening.
We don't seem to have the strength, but we push on until we realise That we don't need confidence to live,
We don't need wings to fly,
And that we don't have to be like everyone else to be beautiful.
As this dawns on us, in our old age, we realise that the other Butterflies are weakening, their poor wings deteriorating.
They fall to the ground, begging for our help.
But our wings are just sprouting as we re-learn how to fly.
As our second chance at life was granted.
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4/23/2024 6:05:19 AM # 1.0.0.1119
