today i exploded

all over my everyone.

i found myself outside trying to collect the bits and pieces of me

that were still clinging

to the corners of my cheeks,

 wondering if collecting myself is also a form of hoarding….


 through my tears,

i spy the chrysalis.

hanging by a slender thread,

brown, black and grey,

looking like a diseased leaf curled.

Camouflaged like death Herself,

the butterfly awaits

Her becoming

having given up all hope of every being a caterpillar again.





About eteal

Reverend Teal is a minister, chaplain, artist and storyteller. She specializes in the human-animal bond and all its healing aspects.
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2 Responses to transformations

  1. Diane Pennington says:

    This poem spoke to me deeply. Thank you for sharing it!!

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