relationships
to the artists and lovers…
maybe you’ll lose a little sleep
and the sanity will waver… but you’ll
trade it for the dreams and for the bleeding
of the colors and the escape from time,
and your soul will stir, and your heart will race,
and the art will breathe, and the awakenings
will come again and again and again…
– butterflies rising
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beautiful…
the way you say it,
how it feels. too. good.
like quenching thirst on my skin.
how i feel too desperate to hear it…
but how i can’t let it stay because
i’m too unsure to hold it.
so please…
don’t say it.
i want to have heard it enough in
my own voice that i don’t need you to say it…
but, also… so that when you do…
i can let it fall on me without a fight
…let me fall madly for me first.
– butterflies rising
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never again
let your heart settle.
never. again.
hold it close to anyone
who doesn’t see
your light-giving,
breath-stealing,
fire-starting magic…
or who sees it all,
and tries to hold you back.
never again.
– butterflies rising
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for so long
i thought if i could just become. enough.
that it would be enough for him to be good to me
until i finally realized that wasn’t what he wanted.
he wanted me to be pretty enough
to be beautiful in his eyes,
but my eyes better not be too bright,
and that dress better not be too short,
and those lips better not be too full of lush and love
or talk of too much life for anyone else to see
something beautiful in me…
or heaven forbid,
for me to see something beautiful in myself.
and those dreams i had to find my voice and to spill
all the wild from my heart out into the world…
if i was chasing those dreams,
then i wouldn’t be small enough or sitting still enough as
the sure thing there waiting while he was chasing his.
the more i tried to be. enough. the more i became too much.
because underneath all the ways he needed me to be small,
“enough” is what he felt like he wasn’t.
– butterflies rising
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for so long
i thought if i could just become. enough.
that it would be enough for him to be good to me
until i finally realized that wasn’t what he wanted.
he wanted me to be pretty enough
to be beautiful in his eyes,
but my eyes better not be too bright,
and that dress better not be too short,
and those lips better not be too full of lush and love
or talk of too much life for anyone else to see
something beautiful in me…
or heaven forbid,
for me to see something beautiful in myself.
and those dreams i had to find my voice and to spill
all the wild from my heart out into the world…
if i was chasing those dreams,
then i wouldn’t be small enough or sitting still enough as
the sure thing there waiting while he was chasing his.
the more i tried to be. enough. the more i became too much.
because underneath all the ways he needed me to be small,
“enough” is what he felt like he wasn’t.
– butterflies rising
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he’s got a little
mischief in his smile
and a little wild in his eyes,
but there’s bleeding in that heart
and a whole lot of passion in that soul,
and he doesn’t just make you feel things…
he lets himself feel it all too.
– the boys who bleed flowers and fire
– butterflies rising
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even if it is
madness to do so,
i will let myself feel you.
and even if it is through madness
to find you… i will search for you.
and no matter how far
and wide we wander,
how. desperately. we lose our way,
i will look for you in every lifetime…
until we finally stay.
– butterflies rising
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love languages…
blood + fire… the wild. the passionate.
the visceral things that burn in your veins,
that bite at your senses, that give you a pulse
sugar + flowers… the sweet. the soft.
the vulnerable things that tender the walls
and break your heart open
love + soul… the deep. the true. the heart.
the lungs. the breathing. the wings. the free…
the things you ache for… and the ones that ache back
magic + stars… the infinite. the destined.
the things you feel beyond words, beyond bodies,
beyond… before… after… always.
– butterflies rising
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…the kind of eyes that mean what they say when they say all those things that eyes say
– butterflies rising
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nothing feels
as rich, as expensive,
as being held by hands
laced in respect,
strong hands that can be
soft and slow against your skin
like flowers, like curiosity…
and eyes that mean what they say
when they say all those things
that eyes say… like,
it’s safe here. and there’s truth here.
and there’s depth in here.
and full. attention.
that undeniable, can’t not. must have.
ache for you, ache for this…
nothing. but. this. kind of aching in you
reaching for an aching me…
those are the priceless things,
give me your priceless things.
– butterflies rising
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