Imago

Cryptic, I blended with my surroundings in my own playful world.

In my youth you neither heard me nor saw me.

More warm and fuzzy back then—but just as hard-headed.

Now a conspicuous flutterer, a travelling flower of sorts.

I fly from Zinnia to Viola to Daisy all in a summer’s day hoping to quench my thirst.

I worked hard to earn my wings and celebrate my grown-up freedom.

For fun I land on your nose while you nap in the meadow, then fly away the moment you awake saying,

   “Catch me if you can.”  But my wings easily fray so please don’t touch.

Low on the food chain, I’ve grown cautious of predators.

My Creator sustains me one day at a time.

My sensitive antennae alert me to danger—real or imagined.

My vibrant garment of fuchsia, turquoise, and tangerine, announces my presence.

Poisonous? Or just pretending to be?

Get too close and you’ll see right through my intricate wings.

Don’t let my armor fool you.

My hard exoskeleton will only protect my gooey insides to a point.

Squeeze a little and you’ll crack my crunchy shell.

Pinch a bit more and you’ll crush me, as my insecurity and stupidity gush out.

And if that happens I will die.