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THE CRITIQUE CIRCLE

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TITLE: Fly Away, Butterfly
By Ennis Smith
06/20/11
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Hi all. When I originally wrote this short, it was intended to be labeled as poetry. But the prose, flow and structure does not exactly resonate poetically. Therefore I decided to label it a short story. All thoughts and comments are welcomed. Could this be considered poetry?
For too long I held you captive in a glass jar,
waiting for you to transform into a marvelous beauty for eyes to see.

I set your glass prison atop a pedestal, and watched you grow from afar.

Each day you seemed to change, growing larger, slowly shedding the fur covered shell, revealing more of your inner personality as you circled the confines of the jar.

I was so proud to witness you become a grown caterpillar; still rough on the outside, but radiating inner beauty.

Amazed, I observed you weave your own cocoon, hiding from sight.

I waited patiently for you to emerge knowing, all along, what your color scheme would appear to be.

You see, I watched you from the beginning and therefore knew you better than you knew yourself.

But your evolution surprised me completely.

Your color-scheme nothing as I imagined.

I had no idea who you were.

I opted to hold you captive inside the jar, until you chose to change into what I wanted you to become, for me.

Yet for all my selfish intentions, I discovered I was actually hurting you.

My jar restricted your ability to explore the world in its entirety, through your own eyes.

You pleaded with me to set you free, yet I refused to listen; hell-bent on my own wants and needs.

You resorted to trickery and dishonesty; anything you could do to free yourself from my loving, but selfish jar.

The more you rebelled, the more my heart grew weary and unhappy.

Were you not the beauty of my dreams? Was your destiny different from what I wanted it to be?

Finally, I saw you for who you really were; a beauty, yes.

But, a beauty of your own making and personality.

I finally saw you for who you are to be, and realized that your destiny lies not with me.

Reluctantly, I grasped the fragile glass jar and gently unscrewed the cap.

Fly away, butterfly.

I release you from my selfish love.
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