She sits there in silence,
With an ink pen ready.
She does this only at certain times,
Evil thoughts haunt her constantly.
The ink against her,
Leaves a tiny butterfly.
Then another and another,
Although they may resemble doodles,
It’s a sign hope in disguise.
She struggles with constant pain,
The butterfly is her inner strength.
The ink shows that she cares,
Rather than hurting herself.
She chose this instead of scars,
She’s tired of the constant lies.
The butterfly flutters rhythmically,
Side by side to her heart beat.
She only wants to be happy,
Why is that so hard to ask for?