Paper folds when you bend it a certain way.

Its rips with a twitch and crinkles under pressure.

                                       Flung away by a gust of air,

It   f r a g m e n t s   by droplets and singes by flames.

 

The hand, a stalking predator of manipulation,

And paper its prey.

Fragile.

       Thin.

            Weak.

 

I am paper.

 

A paper girl

With paper dreams

In a paper town.  

A girl that wonders,

As she is confined in her eight and a half by eleven cell

Of two dimensional reality,

How many times she can be folded,

Pushed and pulled in every direction,

Before she finally tears.

She is only paper…

 

I

Am only paper.

 

 

…

But, does it have to be this way?

Must I stay confined within these four corners,

A prison of my own margins?

Why must I be paper?

WHY CAN’T I JUST CHANGE?

WHY CAN’T I JUST BE WHO I WANT TO B–  

Wait. Breathe.

 

Face the truth.

 

I can’t change who I am.

I was born this way.  

SO WHAT if I’m paper?

These corners don’t have to serve as chains,

They can be reminders of where

The paper ends and

I’m set free.

 

It's true: paper crinkles, fragments, and folds,

But beyond these cell bars of blue lines and silver spirals,

I can see that what tears me down

Does not make me who I am.

I am shaped by how I get back up.

 

Flames do burn. And breezes still sweep me off my feet.

But as every charred edge whispers in the willowing wind,

I find these scars of adversity to be reminders

Of how I’m right where I should be.

On course with where the wind takes me.

 

And even though a crinkle can and

Has crumbled me down,

It can never rid me of these words.

My message remains the same.

Crumpled

Or not.

 

Looking back now, I realize that

I’ve been ripped into a million pieces

By the very battles of my own mind.

But I've also noticed that with a little time, a little diligence,

I always manage to tape myself back together again.

 

That paper girl with paper dreams?

I reached deep inside and took her by the hand,

Releasing her from my mind.

Because I no longer want imaginary fantasies,

I will make my once paper dreams

Into triumphant goals.

 

So, although I fold,

I’ve learned to embrace each new crease,

Because I am an origami crane

That was once just paper.