Cocoon (a poem)

You burst from your cocoon
like popcorn from the bag.
They say “you are beautiful,
just as nature intended.”

You grow as you did before,
learning the ways of the world
with your new-found wealth-
They say “you are such a lucky thing, you.”

Your presence collects stares
like a magnet does to paper clips.
They say “you are eye-catching,”
all thanks to your beauty nap.

But something is wrong
for all I see

is that you emerged just as you had
when first climbing into your cocoon.
These people look at you
through rose-colored glasses.

You may call yourself
such a beautiful
butterfly,

but all I see
is just another bug,
waiting
to get
squished.

Cocoon

Everyone thinks that cocoons are precious save havens, untouched by the evils of the world. But they are wrong.

I would love to live in a warm blanket of solitude, but cocoons do not do that. They are merely foggy glasses and a scarf on a cold winter day. The world is the same, the world is still there, but it's harder to perceive. And the cold whips at you still, just a thin bit of protection to help you.

The bitter cold and grouchy winds are your only company. People walk not past you, not around you, not even through you, but into you. They bump into you and bruise your skin with their bulky bodies. They don't notice you - it's like they are brushing against a brick wall. Cold, bruised, and alone. That is what life in a cocoon is.

Through the harsh winters and dull falls, waiting eagerly for a gentle spring and a breath of fresh air - a new life. A life where you won't be ugly or scary or creepy or weird or unfitting, unsettling, annoying, or feared, where you won't be sneered at, and your presence will be cheered. A life where you are loved for being you.

But at this point, are you even still yourself?

When you wrapped yourself for the transformation, it was just second nature. It was finally your time to experience the inevitable. But the you that you once were is peeled away like dead, flaky skin or chapped lips, or your own withered cocoon. Your new-found beauty, your new-found self, from something so disgusting and unwanted.

Do you remember the tale of the ugly duckling? How about Cinderella? Now think - would anyone have liked them before they became beautiful and successful? No? Now haven't you had that same thought about the other beautiful people that made you want to change? What makes us any better than the repulsive toads that get to become rulers of each others happiness? What makes you different than the ones that you despised? You escaped from them, just to become one yourself.

You may see a beautiful butterfly, but I still see a bug, simply waiting to be squished.

Fix You

I didn't even realize this was a Coldplay song when Glee sang it yesterday, but I love it even more now.

Just... how I feel right now.

When words fail, music speaks.

Okay Okay this is my last blog today I swear (technically it's tomorrow so ha!). I just had to comment on this:

When words fail, music speaks.

This is pure blasphemy to me. I mean, sure I've used lyrics as my Facebook status numerous times, and even put a song on repeat because it said exactly what I was feeling. But I don't think that music is taking place of words then because THE MUSIC USES WORDS. I think what people mean to say is "When OUR words fail, music speaks for us." Sometimes we can't phrase or express what we want to say, but with music, it's mainly the lyrics we use to express our feelings for us. However in some situations, when you're really sad or pissed or happy, you just blast the song because the beat or melody show what your mood is. But when people use the line "When words fail, music speaks" they mean the lyrics, and I just think it's kind of redundant.