Sep 22, 2018
I search for sadness in my heart
to spill clever words onto paper
to paint a masterpiece of sorrow.
For the first time in a long while
I reach blindly for sadness
only to find none.
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I search for sadness in my heart
to spill clever words onto paper
to paint a masterpiece of sorrow.
For the first time in a long while
I reach blindly for sadness
only to find none.
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With my sadness, I feel as if I connected with a piece of me, a piece of my poetry, that I could never have found before. Now, as I start to feel better, to believe in better, I feel as if I'm losing pieces of me, pieces of my poetry, to happiness.
Is that so awful? // Things I wish I was brave enough to say #45
Burying Butterflies – A Buried Butterfly
When I met you
the world erupted into swarms of butterflies
in a way that could only be described as awe worthy.
Streaks of color
and butterflies ranging in size from pebbles to flowers
nestled in my hair and lifted us off the ground
like a west-bound wind.
The butterflies were like a constant third-wheel
to this bike of love
until everything
went
down
hill.
This bike ride
became steeper and steeper
until we lost control
our tire skidding out from beneath us
and we tumbled to a stop
like tangled tumbleweeds.
On the ground
bloodied and scraped
it was only then that the butterflies left us
dropping from the skies like rainbow droplets
and it was only then
that we were forced to bury
thousands of small winged bodies.
I remember you
holding hands with another,
but she wasn’t yours.
.
I heard you’re “just friends.”
Yeah, “just friends” can kiss my ass.
You don’t hold friends’ hands.
.
Against my judgement
I felt a pulsating pain
choking my lone heart.
.
Just for you, I tried
to smother my growing hate
the surging envy.
.
I was forced to watch
as you laughed and smiled with her
two perfect lovers.