Like a Butterfly


Stand on your tiptoes,
Let me feel the wind in my hair
I could not have let this moment get away
Anyway
I think your dreamy eyes will remind me of a song
And your strong arms will lead me to a better world
If I only knew how

I could float and flutter once
And see the colors you see
Buy me a drink and let’s talk about your favorite movies
That would be a new start to our old story
I would feel young and alive again
Like a butterfly

I’m letting my dreams dance
Ablaze in the night sky full of fireflies
It means so much to me that I cry
On my knees, waiting for a miracle to wash it down with
These whirlwind life forms agitate me

Abashed, I let my rhythm break
Fed on the stark whiteness of bland weather games
One text feels like one heartbeat, forever gone
And over and over and over I drive a stake through my heart
Piercing the black nothingness, this senselessness
This purposeless drifting of a butterfly soaked in blood

Take me to a new place, a coffee date, anything
Tell me about the time you played football so well
Tell me an innocent story from the depths of your childhood days
I want to breath the fabric of life again
I want to swim in your life again

Uncertain, I let my hands fall to my side
Lift my head, raise my neck to your touch
Absolutely compelled, I couldn’t even rise
But all I see are dreams and dust
And dreadful scenes that never took place
Etched in a far-off land, waiting to play
Kill me, wash off the blood and gore
Because I learnt too soon that I belonged to the earth

Synchronized, I echo the same verse over and over again
As though this chant could ever even save me
As though that look could make me sane again
As if everything I am and can ever be
Is a butterfly
And it’s time to fall to the floor once more.

The power of touch

Personal note: I wonder sometimes, where do these poems come from and why? Why do I feel these things that make me see beyond my own life? Should I let this part of me go? I can’t. I shouldn’t. I needn’t have to. But if I didn’t have this part inside me, this screaming, fighting ball of fire in my gut, I wouldn’t feel pain. I wouldn’t feel these things that I shouldn’t have to. I’d go from one day to the next with fewer thoughts and happier ones at that. And nobody would mind. Nobody would care. But if all the pain of the world, of things that don’t even happen to me, comes to me in this way, through this weird power inside, then the words I create with that pain are ENOUGH to carry me through, enough to make me love bearing every minute of this torturous solitude.

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