I despise beauty,

For it is never me.

It is too welcoming,

And I prefer not to be.

My wings are not softly glittering,

Like a mirror held for the stars.

I have no substantial colors

Worth trapping inside jars.

My coal grey coat is warm,

Camouflaging and unique.

I see no eager fingers

Trying to trap me for a peek.

Though I am much safer,

At times I will admit,

That beauty, although fleeting,

Is not entirely the pits.

For beauty could never be

A harbinger of ghosts.

Or draw too close to flames,

A fate I never chose.

For dwelling in the dark,

To evade the eyes of day,

I find I crave the light,

More and more, come what may.

But I would never trade my freedom

Without regard to the cost.

I can’t escape my truth.

I’m not a butterfly, I’m a moth.

So tell me, dear reader,

Which path would you choose?

A dreamer’s anonymity,

Or dazzling fame and a noose?