Dung Beetle by Samantha Pardo Irigoyen

I never took myself seriously.
Despite what I was, I always
wanted to be a Butterfly.
I would watch them above me,
with stained glass wings
that casted out a spectrum of beauty.
In those moments, I’d feel beautiful.
Years later, and every morning
I wipe the steam off the
mirror to see myself clearly -
a Dung Beetle.
Living in Wasteland,
working for crappy pay,
eating scatty cheap food,
rolling along in an Egesta car,
all the while wondering
where the Butterflies fluttered off to.
They warned me that would happen;
beautiful wings sometimes flutter
off to unreachable heights,
leaving you with the reality that
you remain knee deep in matters
that rot and stink.
I dream about waking up
and finding I’ve grown wings,
but for now
I find myself in a place
where deep down
I know without me
the world
would turn
to shit.