Writing Prompt

I am not a butterfly. I am a moth.

I sit back and let You pretty Perfect Popular Butterflies get it all

I watch as people marvel at your wings I watch them Point in the sky as you fly by

No one looks at me The way you get looked at No one gives a second glance As I pass by

Maybe I should keep up With you Maybe I should change Try harder Look better Be better

But in the end After I tried to be like you After the struggle After the happy faces After all the fake

I still can’t be noticed I still can’t be liked I still won’t be loved

I’ll never be a butterfly. I still am a moth.

I wonder if my habits will kill me I don’t know why but I get this feeling It’s so chilling Every time I walk into the building Everyone’s starring Late at night or early in the morning I hear church bells ringing I get this feeling It’s so chilling Stop it Stop it Stop it Stop it I’ve had enough I’ve had enough I’ve had enough I’ve had enough I’ve had enough

I wonder if my habits will kill me Habits kill me They’ll kill me I have no clue why but I get that feeling It’s so chilling Every time I walk into the building Everyone’s starring It’s so chilling Late at night or Early in the morning I hear church bells ringing and people mourning I get this feeling It’s so chilling Angels and demons singing And I can’t tell who is who God please save me

I got skeletons in my closet And they keep telling me My time is running out I really think they want my soul Destroying my brain inside my skull The damage is a lot more than partial Casualties in my body Demons on top of me Makes it hard to breathe I’ve had enough I’ve had enough I’ve had enough Drugs to brain Got me going insane Drink in my veins Now I’m slurring my words Mentally hurt these wounds turned to scars I need more than a doctor

Every time I walk into the building there’s this feeling It’s so chilling God please Stop it Stop it stop it Stop it I’m pleading I’ve had enough I’ve had enough I’ve had enough

God please Stop it stop it I’ve had enough I’ve had enough I’ve had enough I’ve had enough Ive had enough Something wrong And I don’t know it I’m better off dying alone I can’t breathe I can’t sleep I can’t think No I can’t No I can’t I can’t breathe

I wonder if my habits will kill me I don’t know why but I get this feeling It’s so chilling Every time I walk into the building Everyone’s starring It’s so chilling Late at night or early morning I hear church bells ringing and people mourning I get this feeling It’s so chilling Angels and demons singing And I can’t tell who is who It’s so chilling God please save me

Stop it stop it stop it I’ve had enough I’ve had enough I’ve had enough I’ve had enough I’ve had enough

I got skeletons in my closet

I’ve made a habit of lying I fell in love with the silence It’s easier for me to paint a smile on Telling everyone that I’m doing fine now But they can’t tell I’m a liar

My reflections someone else And I don’t know their name Oh I’m a disgrace I’m losing my faith I ask for forgiveness Just to make the same mistakes So many messes made Is anyone out their listening My mind is a dangerous place to live

Secrets on me I’m dying to breathe But it seems like I’ll leave With my secrets too keep Falling apart at the seams Six feet to my grave Falling from grace Losing my faith But With the skin of a saint

Don’t let me be deceiving For the longest time I’ve had this feelings I can’t believe I believe that I’d be better by now Feels like forever That I’m not in control of me Falling from Heaven It’s a long way down

My names the same But I can’t recognize my face Oh I’m a disgrace Losing my faith I ask for forgiveness Just to repeat my mistakes So many messes made Is anyone out there listening My minds a dangerous place to live

Secrets on me I’m dying to breathe But it seems like I’ll leave With my secrets to keep Falling apart at the seams Six feet to the grave Falling from grace Losing my faith But with the skin of a saint

Why is a moth annoying when butterflies get to be beautiful? Yes, butterflies have huge, graceful wings, but they also seem kind of dumb. They bumble around on the breeze when moths know exactly where they are going. We are going to the light.

Butterflies get all of the attention, too. I learned in second grade about the metamorphosis process and how a chrysalis works. Do moths get a chrysalis? No one knows because people just want to know about butterflies. Now I want to know if moths transform inside a chrysalis, but I don’t have a phone. Boo!

Alice often get comments on her visual beauty. Long curly hair with hues of red and blonde in the sun, she was quite lucky to have very authentic and unique features. But sometimes, she wished the world saw more than what meets the eye. She considers herself skilled in art, with painting being her favorite. She can express herself in a way without words, she can say a million things in just one of her paintings.

Recently, Alice painted a beautiful butterfly fluttering through tall meadows and wildflowers. It looked stunning, especially with the colors she chose for the butterfly. Sunset orange fading into a happy yellow on its wings and a dark brown torso, it was a perfect contrast. It was a very aesthetically pleasing painting, but it made her feel.. disingenuous.

Butterflies are beautiful creatures that glide through the air with ease and grace, just as the world sees Alice. But she doesn’t feel like a butterfly. She said to herself “I am not a butterfly, I am a moth”, never recognized for true beauty. Alice wishes to be recognized for her heart and optimism about the world, that her beauty is merely luck. As even on the darkest of nights, moths will always find the light.

Don’t sugarcoat it
I am what I am
Still, I won’t quit
The Lion and the Lamb Died for me
He really did
Hard to believe
When I was off-grid My heart remained His
There’s no hiding
Just the way it is
In Him, I’m abiding I’m a moth, deal with it
Never will be a butterfly
Still, I won’t quit
As I continue to testify

I am not a butterfly, I am a moth. I am ignored until I am needed I am only called when you’re sad, I am only there when you want me to be,

I am not a butterfly, I am a moth, I am not beautiful, I am not ugly, I am not special, I am not basic, I am not perfect, I am not extremely flawed.

I am not a butterfly, I am a moth, I am ignored, I am not the first choice, I am just A simple moth

I am not a butterfly, I am a moth. Drawn to the light all the same, But meant to remain in just one spot.

I am not dazzled in beauty to adore, Just shades unrecognizable And nothing much more.

In the quiet of the night, I flutter, Aimlessly, unacknowledged. My wings, a dusty canvas, Not graced with vibrant hues, Nor daylight's embrace.

The butterfly, adorned, In beauty, Wild and free – The creature That I will never be.

For I am just a moth, Drawn to a world, That doesn't see my face, I am the avoided, A hollow echo, In a world of light.

As I dance alone in the dark, The flames… They draw me in, Leaving me burned, Again and again. Yet still, I long to feel, The flames again.

My spirit, beaten and battered, My wings, torn and tattered, Forced to carry the weight Of a thousand shadows.

Forgotten, in the company, Of nothing but the moon, I am but a fleeting whisper, A dreamer of the day, In shadows deep. In the cold arms of the night, I weep.

For I am just a moth, A drifter, nothing more, A ghost among the living. Envious of the butterfly, Of its freedom, of its light, While I watch, condemned forever, In the night.

She never liked bugs, They crawl and fly and squirm. They get under rugs, But she is quite fond of worms.

One day she met this boy, Who liked such creatures. He looked at them with joy, His reactions ignited his features.

She told him once that he reminded her of a butterfly, He said ”I’m not a butterfly, I’m a moth.” And that made her reply, “As a butterfly, you’d be better off.”

But why would she say such a thing? Moths grow as butterflies do. They may not have as beautiful as wings, But they have their own beauty too.

So she listens to her Bug Collector, He makes her less naive. In his heart is where he keeps her, Between the moth wings, where she is weaved.