We are butterflies

Flaunting brightly colored wings

like pettifogging peacocks



We are the nails

pinning ourselves to cork

Closing the glass door on our coffins



We are so beautiful in death

Puffing up with pride

When anyone compliments our corpses



We are arranged in groups

With other carbon copies

Diversity is shunned



We no longer dream of flying

Instead dreaming of a world

Where we are popular



We pin ourselves to cork

Society helping us

But blaming us when it goes wrong



We are pinned

Not daring to rip our wings

To escape