A Grub’s Portrait
A butterfly wakes up one morning and finds itself a caterpillar
I cannot recognize myself
I search for that one moment
The instance in time where this hideous thing began to spawn
I remain incapable of understanding this transformation
Logic screams “compromise must be the culprit”
The effects of that first compromise were enormous
Yet the compromise itself was so menial that I cannot recall
I do not remember cultivating this monster
This self-centered machine
Is it possible that someone else grew it while the butterfly slept?
Could I have been so fascinated with chasing dreams that I completely missed the morph?
Maybe this evolution was for self-preservation
Am I protecting myself?
Man has been known to abhor his savior
Or is this simply just life?
Once robbed of life’s innocence are we all merely self-deluded grubs with wings?
Perhaps I have not changed at all
Perhaps I have just caught my reflection
