Butterfly Garden

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The sunlight hits me like a wall of
Golden comfort,
Warm air heavy with the scent of lilac and rose and the
Honey-colored smell of the breeze.
My garden.
My butterfly garden,
Filled with chips of stained-glass wings
Floating on a breath of thought.
They contain the pieces of who I am,
My fears,
My inspiration,
My coldness,
Love,
Hope,
Pain,
Sorrow,
Laughter,
Hatred,
Wisdom,
Life,
Me.
I am the butterflies,
My heart is a silver cage
Full of Copper Blues and Sooty Azures,
Fluttering bits of sky floating strongly
Against the wind.
My head is a Tiger Swallowtail,
Bold and bright, resting in the lilacs,
Trying to overtake my namesake
As I flit behind the barn cat.
My hair is a mass of Sylvan Hairstreaks,
Brown, shiny, everywhere, though I
Wish
They were blue-black Dianas.
My eyes are emerald Malachites, my skin is a
Softly shifting sheet of Fairy Yellows.
I am the butterflies,
The butterflies are me when I sit in my butterfly garden
And flutter through the trees.