Cocoon

[Todd]

Hi Stephanie, I've meaning to come back to this one for some time. Here are some comments for you:

Still working on my other poem but going to let it rest for a wee while then come back to it.


Cocoon

The day my butterflies broke free from my body--wonderful first line, wonderful conceit. You can cut the first my. You probably need a comma at the end of this.
they unrolled me like a paper thin cocoon--probably hyphenate paper-thin. Love the way this line serves as a jumping off point

opened out, insides exposed--cut this line. It's a bit clunky. I realize that messes up your couplet style, but I'm sure you can come up with something.
held me up to the light and saw right through me.

They fold me differently each day,
sometimes a plane, sometimes a boat--don't use a plane here. It takes some of the power away from the origami line later. How about a hat (boat upside down) so that may work

at sundown they turn back my corners
press me flat, but the creases remain

a map of reminders of all the shapes
I did not sustain. They write on me--I've enjoyed this progression

but the story doesn’t stick,
the words jumble into empty noise.--noise seem wrong something with scribbles seems write for the conceit you're building

Once they cut me into a child’s snowflake,
that night the holes in my body leaked dark onto the bed.--gorgeous

There are versions of me in magazines, glossy sheets
that mock my worn parchment until it’s corners curl.--its. Nice lines

Each morning I try to draw myself a mouth
but the lines blur, bleed my lips to buttons,--see, this is the right way to handle the above line. It's visual not auditory. In fact you can't talk about the process that's part of the problem

sometimes I romantise myself into letters--typo: romanticize
from imagined lovers who run their ink stained fingers[--great line, with a great line break

over my yellowed skin as if it were lined with gold.
One day I will learn the art of origami

fold myself into a bird and fly away. The light draws me--love the origami progression
like a moth in winter until the edges of me are singed back.--gorgeous

I am afraid of windy days, hold on tightly--there's a slight confusion of subject between days and hold (I must, they must, you must). I'm not sure how to take this line.
to my children’s paperweight arms.--solid ending

I enjoyed the poem Stephanie. Hopefully the comments help some.

Best,

Todd