Butterflies
I sit here with butterflies in my stomach
My heart like a thoroughbred
My mind craving to be loved again
But here she comes
From the depths of my bones
The younger me pleading to run
Speaking venom and spitting fire
“He doesn’t mean it”
“It won’t last”
“He’ll just use you”
“It’s not worth it”
She gave up a long time ago
Made a home in my lonely soul
Tore my memories to weave for warmth
Swore never to express her love again
Stored it in a box under her bed
Poured the pain into a bottle of gin
And chased it with adrenaline
I can’t blame her really
She has her reasons
But I wonder when she’ll settle down
Let go of her doubts
If she’ll ever open the window
To watch the butterflies again
2 thoughts on "Butterflies"
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To hurt and be guarded is natural, but as the last stanza suggests, there’s still that part of us that wants to ‘open the window.’ It’s a journey for us all.
Loved the , Tore my memories to weave for warmth! Great inner voice poem.