Her writer's voice was there
In writing she never claimed.
She doubted that it was real when
A poet's voice began to speak.

Slowly as a butterfly opens it wings
Her true voice claimed its space.
As the last bit of cocoon fell away
The poet's voice grew stronger.

Spreading wings catching the breeze
Effortless floating wherever it takes her.
Stronger now with swift patterns taking
Shape as all memory of the chrysalis fades.