the tender and the fire…

give me the tender and the fire. i want the angst and ache and wild mess.

give me
the tender and the fire.
i want the angst and ache
and wild mess.
all of it broken open,
nothing less.
because there’s just nothing else
that can disarm me like that.
it completely takes me apart…
a man’s passion and
raw vulnerability,
the stretching of his heart walls
and all those flowers growing
from his chest.

– butterflies rising

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all those flowers growing from your chest…

the stretching of your heart walls and all those flowers growing from your chest.

give me
your tender and your fire…
all of it broken open, nothing less.
the stretching of your heart walls and all those
flowers growing from your chest.

– butterflies rising

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angst and ache and wild mess…

give me your tender and your fire. your angst and ache and wild mess.

give me your tender and your fire. your angst
and ache and wild mess. all of it broken open,
nothing less. i want passion and raw vulnerability…
the stretching of your heart walls and all those
flowers growing from your chest.

– butterflies rising

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love her flowers and fire…

love her flowers and fire

he loved my fire…
as long as i was held tight within his grasp.
but when i was out of his line of sight,
i’d better be somewhere
soft-voiced and southern-charmed,
sitting still and not looking too pretty.
and so i made myself sweeter and smaller
and less and less and less, for his fears…
and in the end, he still couldn’t love me.
and i didn’t love me either.
but i’m slowly starting to…
and i want to love all of me.

so the next time a boy wants to bring me flowers,
he has to want to love my fire too.

– butterflies rising

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