Wombs

I had a vision once that I was a butterfly still in its cocoon, trying to wrestle its way out before its time. (You're not ready to be revealed, little one. Don't struggle against the protection of your rebirth) But all my sisters are transformed and beautiful, taunting me with their outstretched wings, displaying their vibrant new colors brightened by the sun. They proclaim, "Look at me, sister! Today I learned to fly! I felt the wind under my small body carrying me on currents of endless sky! Today I danced through clouds and air, and warmed my wings on the rays of the sun!" All the while I tug at my unformed wings, pressing against the walls of my second womb, struggling in vain to break through this second skin. (You are not ready. You are not strong enough. It is not your time. Wait. Be patient.) I have been waiting. Three years a stillbirth waiting to be revived. I crave new air. I want to raise my arms, but they are squashed beneath my body. My voice is caught in my throat and muffled by the walls of this womb. Not fully caterpillar, not yet butterfly, I am a changeling caught between two worlds.