confidence trials, non-transitory aerodynamics, and cryptic coloration

Last week I attended an interrogation
one-way mirrors turned double, pointed outward and reflected back on a face
accused of 14 years of slandering its smile
but like the the innocent who do not have the effort to appeal and to fight
I turned myself in,
pleaded guilty.

we try so damn hard to get ourselves to believe that we are our biggest felony.

I sat staring at my accomplice
at this reflection
at the creases and the folds that bend around my words
locking testimonies into brackets and paranthetical citings
of stories once taken from a three year old
that were spat back out , dulled down,
and presented in proper stylistic format,
with logic and reasoning and boredom.

these things we call dimples
that now contain my usage of language
and present a facade in the form of a smile.

but when I look through the mirror
and I'm my only defense
I'm asking questions trying to gain alibis
as to what caused the change in me that ruined these lines
that were once just dimples
extending deeper into the skin making the brackets appear more like question marks
that marked the curiosity of a child smile
and I look familiar to an old video of myself when I was three and laughing
singing about the cowardice of some butterflies who flee the entrapment of their cocoon
to attempt finding beauty in the air with hopes that wings outstretched would carry them to freedom
away from the trials and tribulations of the earth-bound creatures
the ones who once were
the creepies and the crawlies
trying to survive with the struggle of motion created from prickly hairs trying to push against ground

while awaiting my acquittal,the mirror resonated a voice
that questioned like the marks of my three year old smile,
trying to know the motive of a monarch butterfly
and why a caterpillar would bundle themself up for so long
only to discover that their verdict
is that the glorified spectrum of vibrant colors saturated in their fore and hindwing,
are that of the same which rested against
their strong,muscled, flesh
before they traded themselves in for a weaker self
just to find the same beauty in fragile wings

I want re find the spirit of
the youngest butterfly who knew the wings she was growing would not hold
when she jumped off the monkey bars
and laughed while hitting the grass
feeling the snapping of fissioned bone,the break of her growing leg

I want to know the motive behind why she denied the crutches
why she did not want to be held up

and when the question marks un-folded like wings
they said she just wanted to feel grounded
to open up her chest like a cocoon
reverse with blinding speed from chrysalis to larvae
just to land back down and crawl amongst the brush
and to find freedom in unpalatibility