ok no one has to read this but basically Iâm going thru a lot right now and my good friend @goodlysin sent me this post of this little baby moth and I was so moved that I had to immediately write a poem about it. anyway here it is.
The bad-wing moth and I should be bitter folk â
me, for being named after bitterness, I should be steeped too long in it like unsweet tea, singing with the truth of bitterness â
the bad-wing moth for the mere fact it was named for how a man might arrange its body, just so, after its death.
To exist. To be named badly. To be manipulated by unfeeling hands.
I feel as though Iâve been misnamed.
I feel as though I should be a green-winged thing,
But the truth is Iâve made it all too easy.
I still often bend to the whims of men,
and shrink under the scrutiny of those whoâd wish me harm.
I should be a bitter thing. I should live up to my name.
But I am too soft and care too much and want to live too peacefully.
Too quietly even though I am not quiet.
Even though every part of my being beats its bad wings against the confines
of this cage Iâve made myself, the bars screwed in
the bad-wing moth and I are kindred folk
but the truth is I just want to be like her:
to exist quietly, to be green and winged,
to be bad-winged and hard to control,
and hard to find, a secret thing,
to know the taste of bitterness.