I grew up bright, with brave ambition for
my banner, motivation, and excuse.
But one day 20 years ago (or more)
I put a house around me to produce
a family instead of poetry.
In consequence my energy was soon
exhausted in the coils of drudgery,
and I was circumscribed by a cocoon.

The chrysalis disintegrates as I
emerging kick its stickiness apart.
Unfolding me reveals a butterfly
with wings of metered metaphor, a heart
as free as infancy, a psyche grown
to confidence, and armor made of bone.