Cocoon
Dear Diary,
My cocoon
Is neither warm nor cold.
It is neither black nor bright.
It is slightly too large.
My footfalls echo when I am pacing.
But I am not always pacing.
Mostly, I sit in the center,
Folded
Emptying my mind
Listening vaguely to
The whispers
Of my Evolution
In the quiet
Drawing stamina
For the brilliant butterfly of my existence
On the outside
Of my cocoon.
Dear Diary .... by Kellianne Sweeney 