The Butterfly Effect

By Sarah Raza

tw: trauma, gr*oming.

there are holes in my butterfly wings, you may as well have stolen them

and displayed them in a merciless glass casket

I was thrashing and flailing, I wore them out

trying to befriend the wind, dance the breeze

I was just a child

all it took him was one large breath, one manipulative stare

and he blew — changing the wind’s direction, the entire narrative

“don’t play the victim, hear both sides of the story”

today,

my wings have grown powerful enough

that they flutter beautifully but also summon the winds

of the mightiest hurricanes

which will knock the air out of his lungs

the same air he used against me

to extinguish the flames of dominance

that dance mockingly at the apex of each of his wings

once, he didn’t let me float in the wind

now he’s caught in it, thrashing to find stability

he’ll never survive a minute in my world

his ego is too heavy for his sprawling wings,

concealing his true colours

concealing what could’ve been his best quality

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

because after sorrow comes strength

after a rainstorm comes sunshine

and after a flutter of butterfly wings,

comes a hurricane.

I like to call it the butterfly effect