I was once wounded.
It was a wound that was inflicted. A spider bit me.

It itched, it burned. It looked bad. It felt bad.
I was angry that this happened.

There was nothing I could do.
It’s what spiders do.

I had to figure out how to make the wound go away.
I couldn’t.

I had to make it better for me.
The wound was not getting better on its own.

I had to heal it.
The wound needed treatment.

So the care of it began.
I sought solutions.

Since I couldn’t change the infliction
and couldn’t make the wound go away.
I could heal it.

I found different salves. Healing began.
I did my best to stay away from spiders.

I didn’t want to be a spider. I wanted to be near butterflies.

I made sure to know the difference.
And then, tried to live the difference.

As a result, the pain, the itch, and the burning started going away.
The wound finally became a scab.

The scab was well on its way to becoming a scar
but the scab was still there.

I’d acknowledged a long time ago that the scar
was to be a reminder of the wound.

I begrudgingly welcomed it. It was never deserved or wanted.

Spiders are everywhere.
So are butterflies.

The infliction has left this mortal earth.

Its departure caused me to stumble
As a result, the scab fell off of me.
It was too soon.

My wound has a setback.
It still will heal. A scab will come back.

The wound isn’t what it was.
I have pain.
I have a little burning.
I don’t itch.

I am annoyed.
I’m less angry than when the wound happened.
I’m better at this than I was then.

It will always be infliction that caused the wound.

Infliction left, but I will get that scar
because I have butterflies.

To become a butterfly, it has to change… I did too.

I don’t have to forgive that damn spider. Spiders go into the dark.
I wasn’t born to be a Butterfly and I didn't go into the dark.

I learned that I could change to be better. The spider never did.

I could be a butterfly. With a scar, eventually.