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Nina Feb 2021
Roses are painted black,
Violets aren't always blue,
I thought you loved me back,
and you don't know what you put me through...

I was talking about you, like all day...
to everyone and every time...
I painted you on the wall of my room
with roses and velvet night.

I was talking about you, like the whole night...
at stars and the full moon in Leo...
I hugged your portrait on my room's wall
that I painted
and I thought you were talking about me too.

my heart was full of red space
and my stomach was full of butterflies...
I have baked your favorite cake,
because I thought you wanted me in that velvet night.

They said that happiness is a butterfly,
but we met in December,
there was a cold and blue morning sky
and I remember that aesthetic forever.

Roses are painted black,
Violets aren't always blue,
I thought you loved me back,
and you don't know what you put me through...

People born in March are sensitive
but you were cold and mean,
My sun is in Aquarius
and I am the only one who can feel.

I am the only one who can feel butterflies,
and I felt more when I saw you,
I am a sensitive flower full of sun kisses,
lovely bees and the blue sky too.

All I wanted was a black painted rose,
violets and lavenders with your kind smile,
but you hate flowers and colors of love,
and you never smile, you laugh sarcastically...

Roses aren't painted black,
Violets aren't always blue,
I wish to take the time back
for what? you don't have a clue.

You left me heartbroken
and my scars full of the tears
our love is already over
and my feelings are my only fear.

I hope I don't feel the same to anyone,
and I hope butterflies won't leave me there.
but if I do I hope I won't be the only one,
who sees love colors and paints roses black.
I hate that I felt love. I hate that I turn foolish and sad person.
Emma Pratt Feb 2021
i have butterflies
every single one unique in its own way
beautiful delicate wings
with intricate patterns and a variety of colors

each individually carved from stone
by the anxious claws that embed themselves into my skin

i focus on those butterflies
if only to distract me
from my thoughts in my head
from my tingling fingers turning numb
from my pounding heart
and from the air that is no longer in my lungs

i focus on those butterflies
on the way their rough wings scrape along the inside of my stomach
their screams from being crushed by those sharpened claws
and the heavy
sickening feeling
they leave behind
In April,
Our together was cut short,
I couldn't look you in the eyes.
The second our words fleeted,
We were drowning in butterflies.

A story they will never know,
Only for our hearts to see.
The showers of April,
The deaths of you and me.
morgan Jan 2021
Remember when we used to stay up until 6 am
The sun would be rising
Laughing incessantly at something you said
While the world was in a deep sleep
I was awake and dreaming

Staying up all night, not thinking it through
Body and soul on the verge of collapse
However, I only wanted you
To say something that would make butterflies inside
Fly crazy in my heart and mind

Now we wake to the sounds
Of alarm clocks and honking horns
But just a short time ago, we were saying goodnight
At 6 in the morning
When the oxytocin high had me soaring
Kara Shirlene Jan 2021
Though you are both gone
From this Earth;
There's a gift you gave me
At my birth.

It fills a place
In my heart.
I felt it there
From the start.

You passed to me
Your wisdom, kindness, honesty.
And the passion
For writing poetry.
I cannot tell you
Just what that means.

The flutter of a Butterfly
Will always be
A beautiful sight
And the symbol of your memory
In my soul and in my mind.

In my heart
I will always feel you there,
Because a Grandmother's Love
Is the everlasting gift you shared.

Thank you for your examples & legacy.
Thank you for inspiring me.
Thank you both for sharing your life
Through written words and poetry.
And thank you both for your
Grandmother's Love you left with me.

🦋💜🦋
©KSS 1/22/2021
{written in memory of my grandmothers: The two beautiful women who inspired me to begin writing poetry at a very young age. You are in my heart, always.}
SquidInk Dec 2020
im addicted
im addicted to hating myself
im addicted to crying over you
im addicted to longing for the warmth of your touch
im addicted to reliving moments in my head i would give anything to get back
im addicted to looking at you and still getting butterflies
i know i shouldn't, but that's why its called an addiction
Jay M Dec 2020
Conflicted
Internally tormented
Butterflies come alive
Just beneath the flesh
Some with
Wings of razors
Others soft as silk

Call the exterminator
The pests won't leave me be
They flutter about
Collide and ****
Dead ones floating in the blood

- Jay M
December 8th, 2020
They flutter about, and I know not why.
Darina Forgacova Nov 2020
I miss love in my life.
Where are you? I miss you.
Did you forget my address?
It's too long I didn't feel butterflies.
When to meet my bellowed.
Butterflies are not here anymore.

I´ll be there when you will come.
And you will give me everything what I miss.
What I even didn´t know I need.
I need to feel more like me.
Like me before.
It will be my new me belonging to you.
Macy Forte Nov 2020
I once mistook the fresh soil
you poured
down my throat
for butterflies.
But love should not
crawl
deep inside you
And tie
your vocal chords
in knots.

Gardens now infest my lungs
in the same ****** place
where you carefully
dug yourself
a grave.
I make bouquets
with the flowers
that burst
from the rotting marrow
of your
bones.
            —“your absence taught me fertility”
my Instagram is @macyforte if you want to see more poetry
Rebecca Nov 2020
My body causes
a chemical reaction,
with the help from
the laws of attraction.

I store a nectar
my pheromones release,
it serves a delicious
butterfly feed.

Oxytocin
is what it's called,
in my belly is
where it’s installed.

The butterflies swarm
when oxytocin’s produced.
They come to digest
the catalytic juice.

Flipping and turning
eating ravenously,
filling me with bliss
a divine ecstasy.

There is no other feeling
that I can compare,
when the butterflies dine
from my stomach lair.
“The chrysalis moves
in my solar plexus
fulfilling its mission
to quietly emerge..” -  Collette O'Mahony
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