The pain never seems to go away
But i know you're still with me everyday
A part of me left when you died
for months i cried
Although sometimes i feel your spirit with me
And every-time I see that monarch butterfly
I know that you are near by
You may have left too soon
But I know your are here, up by the moon
thanks you for always keeping an eye
While you’re way up there in the sky ❤️

cocooned, like some hungry
butterfly desperate to flee
once more into the world,
i stare at the sullen clouds from
my kitchen window and
sigh with longing.

if only i were a leaf, or a
feather:
then a soft breeze could carry me
anywhere.

nodus tollens- the realization that the "it" of your life doesn’t make sense to you anymore

you call me your butterfly;
your little butterfly child
with my weak bones,
weak skin
and a weak heart.

you call me your butterfly
and my head fills with honey; you say you love me.
you call me your butterfly
and suddenly i can’t help but melting
when you look into my eyes.
you call me your butterfly
and suddenly i want you to be mine
till our wings become soft and dissipate in the warm winds.
you call me your butterfly
and say we are going to fly around the world
to see the black sky paradises
and the nightshade blues.
and all of the other hues.
you say that even in death
our love will last forever.
you said that when you called me your butterfly child.

tell me i’m yours when we are all alone
and maybe i’ll tell you you’re mine.
tell me you love me when i rest my head on your chest.
and maybe i’ll tell you i love you too
tell me you need me when you run your hands through my hair
while we lay in bed for the last time
and maybe i’ll need you just as much.
tell me you want me when you look into my eyes
and maybe i’ll tell you i want you just as much.

butterflies don’t say maybe
and neither do i.
i’ll call you mine when we are alone.
i’ll tell you i love you when i rest my head on your chest;
feeling every one of your heartbeats and breaths.
i’ll tell you i need you when you play with my hair;
the smell of you lingers in my hair
as i lay in bed dreaming of all of our time together.
i’ll tell you i want you when i look into your eyes;
for when i look into your eyes
the wind stops blowing
the sun stops shining
and my mind stops thinking.

if you have to fly away that’s okay
if know we promised to stay
but sometimes is rains when it’s not supposed to
and sometimes we pull flowers out of the ground
just to see them die and change
so i understand if the wind is going to blow you in a different direction
but don’t forget about the days where we chased the sun
and ended up talking to the moon
and don’t forget about the picture-perfect memories
where our smiles looked so big
that no one would have guessed that we were not happy
and don’t forget about all the nights we laid awake
talking about the plans we had for ourselves
and the plans we made together
and don’t forget about every shock
that you felt when my skin brushed up against yours.

you are my butterfly.
eventually, we will come together and fly.
for now, you can visit the black sky paradise
and the nightshade blues
and i’ll come one day
and be with
you.

"isn't that something you
want?" she asked.
"no" i replied. "what i desire cannot be given. only by providence can that which is unattached be realized and only by letting go can it be integrated."
"well then...", she said with a smile,
"...perhaps it's time, hmmm?"
and at that she folded
in on herself
over and over
like complex origami
until she became
a butterfly.  

then she fluttered
into my
chest and took
root in my heart
like a seed.  

she grows there
now like a low moon
lover bathing in moonshine,
dripping in starlight,
changing in
the glow.

I look at the decorative paper with colored illustrations of moths. They’re beautiful–why don’t people write more odes to moths? A moth is free.
The moth just like the butterfly comes to know flight, but when it’s sedentary it rests with its wings open unlike the butterfly. Why don’t we champion how it waits within this state of openness.
How when the moment comes it’ll be closer to readiness.

I look back at the many drawings on that same thin sheet over my desk and I want to cry. I guess I’m staying here a little longer; I will sit and rest like a moth–
preparing until I, too can take to the skies.

A poem flutters
in my chest with playful eyes,
I reach out my hand.

I saw a butterfly today.
Fluttering in daylight
Jewel of the sky

I was compelled
To speak with this butterfly
To know what thought
A butterfly would have

With her colors shifting left and right
Making the world jealous of her beauty
With an arrogant air
She ignored me

Stayed out of my reach
I eventually gave up.
My march no match for the vibrant colors
That loudly ignored me as I chased

As I tried to catch my breath
I found a moth on a bench.
She did not run away when I sat next to her.
She looked to be off in thought or severe concentration.
But my curiosity was stronger

“Why are you sitting here?”
                                            “I’m blending in to confuse the predators”
“Is it working well for you?”
                                            “It has thus far”

I examined the moth and found
Her artsy array was a profound example
Of nature’s artistic talents.
Browns and mahoganies and siennas galore.





“Why are you different than the butterfly?”
                                                    “­She is flashy and loves the attention. I like being invisible.
We each found something that works for us.”
To each its own I suppose.