metamorphosis

If the world you're creating isn't real to others

straight away, you have to mother your art through evolution.

Care for it a little, or masses. Be so enamoured

by your passion, enough to seal a blood bond

to your belief in the dark. The future you want

is the future you’ll get. A type of hunger like this,

bodes well for productivity. You know? Love

for something can be ugly. Let it be ugly.

Love it ugly first; a caterpillar writhing. Adore it when it’s undone,

alone, and newborn. Love yourself, the creator

for all the unspoken values of the process. A book cover is

beautifully unbinding. A reader will be the luckiest,

but the last one touched. Before your world

meets this aged one, be seduced by the peace.

Your mind’s material is your escape

whilst it's unfinished. See, now, how we

can love a loose end for the freedom? See, now,

how we can love the cage of a chrysalis for the protection?

If your world was so real that they could waltz within the borders,

without desire, it would be torment

to watch them walk blind. Have them, instead,

wait on your invitation when you release a dream:

like a butterfly from cupped hands.

In your own time, love. Really.

It’s not their emergence

that’s your responsibility.

© Mollie Mardel