a caterpillar leaving the cocoon the same

i never did
become
the person
i had
planned on
turning into

left a string
of cadavers
in culdesacs
across the
divided states
hollowed out
vaguely human
pinatas hung
from every
lantern hook
in crawling
distance from
a home that
was another
rusted cage

all in hopes
once i
finally
finished
shedding
my scales
a swan would
arise from
the corpse
of the ugliest
of ducklings

i never did
transform
into the hero
of my tale
but happily
i never
turned into
the villain
either
which is more
than most
can say
i just became
a chronicler
of the opposite
of existence

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