I stuffed myself with milkweed
in my adorable larva stage
making my wings large
bright orange. I’m desperate
for people to admire
my delicate beauty and believe
I bring them good luck.
With my life span as short
as a rose’s, I don’t waste my time
fluttering through fields
mingling with flowers.
I plan to follow the heat, echo
in its warmth, power straight
into the sun, feel each ray slash
my wings, burn them to powder,
light up the world.