METAMORPHOSIS

Could you guess what made me stand still,
In the cocoon I was in, out of free will?
You told me my existence wasn't enough to fulfill,
So I embraced quietude, you know, as an act of Goodwill.

For all that time I was silent, I was healing from within,
Discovering all of the energies that I had, built-in,
From the little hole in the cocoon I let sunshine in,
That warmed my heart, my soul and my blooming skin.

In a few years, the transformation of me surprised myself,
My fragility learned to fight for itself,
There was this voice nudging me, 'you gotta stand up for yourself,
For how long will you stay in a capsule, this protective shell?'

In no time it struck to me, it was my time to shine,
I realized my eccentricities were entirely benign,
To be different than the others is actually a good sign,
It was time that was required and all was meant to be fine.

Soon I knew I didn't come this far only to come this far,
I learnt, 'You can't be sorry for the person that you are',
I waited long for this metamorphosis, the witness are the stars,
Already feels like ages that I'm not feeling up to par.

It was about time I learn how to fly,
And look at people, audaciously, in the eye,
I've finally come to a conclusion, don't even ask why,
This is not a world for the feeble and or the shy.

There's a handful of advice, in my bag I  have stowed,
When you're feeling low, you just have to know,
True colours bling bright, virtuousness surely shows,
And if they don't, don't worry, you gotta take it slow.

Good Enough.

For all those times you told me,
I wasn't good enough,
I cried in the bathroom,
Just so from the outside, I could look tough.

Tough like that bridge that'll never break,
Or that muscle in your body that'll never ache,
Maybe, the foundation of that bridge was hit by an earthquake,
Wanting all of your care and empathy, or perhaps just a flake.

What do I need to do to be good enough?
Climb mountains or swim seas,
Or run through deserts, barefooted.
Would that appease?

But what if I reach to you, bleary and beaten?
Or my reliance on you, fully eaten?
Would that feed your masculinity, your misogyny,
Or should another prick furthermore sweeten?

Sweeten to the extent that it turns bittersweet,
Your words had wounded me, from top to the feet,
I felt like the machine that's weary and obsolete,
Whose axles and pulleys could be thrown out in the street.

You never had known, I wasn't street meat,
I was farm-grown, golden, sunkissed wheat,
A household delicacy, a delectable treat,
But darling! You'd never know. Your cognition was never neat.

For all those times I swam through oceanic waves,
There's this handful of lessons, I've proudly embraced,
From the lot, there's one I've highly placed,
It is, that 'regret has the most lasting after-taste.'

The other ones being, 'what glitters is not gold',
'When you don't get something, you just gotta hold,
Even when it's terribly scorching, or relentlessly cold,'
'Some cuts leave scars that hurt even more, when they're old'.