Butterfly Monologue

The first time, I saw a smooth pout with a vertical smile. Opened and closed my legs like butterfly wings for a better view and warm feeling. In teen angst I combed curly hair, worried about symmetry and cursed all the leg flapping I had done. Worried about the size of the wings it had caused me to grow. Now in front of the mirror to primp and preen enjoy the delicate frieze, the perfect imbalance. Lose myself – in thoughts, time and the tangle of soft curls. My smile speaks whispers in a monologue of regrets and celebrations, a bit of fussing about the occasional poor meal choice or the stretches of starvation.