Cocoon

I wish there was a cocoon for me, where I could retreat,

my sanctum of peace and quiet, a shell that envelopes me,

far away from all the intrusion and the incessant heat,

that singes and burns the very marrow, never letting it be.

A place where I can shut my eyes and shut out the world,

my own version of a paradise, untouched and unsullied,

where I imagine the glorious beauty of my wings unfurled,

as I stretch them to fly away, full of colour and grace, unhurried.

Pretend that this ugliness outside does not even exist,

the barbs and the glares bounce off the shell that protects,

an invisible force field that protects, an impenetrable mist,

a cloak that builds me up bit by torn bit and resurrects. 

But I did not count on the inquisitive hands that lift me off,

and shred every last vestige of protection, leaving me broken,

and bleeding, a budding butterfly that has been formed in half,

torn and anguished as life’s hands have dealt cruelty unspoken

This cocoon of mine was just a mirage of a crazed insane mind,

a place that is just outside my grasp, the oasis that I seek to find.