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writing

Mariposas

you should be glad they told him,
as they beat in his fucking face
cut him till the blood ran like rivers
they pummeled him till his teeth
were swimming around in his mouth
like alphabet soup
you should be glad you know
cause it’s like
it’s like, uh
it’s like whatever that thing
a butterfly is that it is
before it’s forced into it’s cocoon
you have no choice but to change from that
you have no choice but to be something completely different
than what you were

kids feverishly putting their hands up in class
after the teacher asks
I know I know I know I know

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