I woke inside a paper room,
My words were wings without a tune.
The walls were quiet, edges torn,
A secret space where I was born.
One day the seams began to glow,
A pulse of colour, soft and slow.
And through a tear of light and sky,
I found the air, I learned to fly.
Now when I land on words or art,
I bring a small piece of my heart.
No net can hold what’s meant to roam —
A butterfly builds her own home.