self-love
in the way a
flower out in the wilderness is beautiful,
touched by nothing but open air
and wild sun…
i hope you know… you matter now.
chosen by no one.
belonging to yourself.
– butterflies rising
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something like wings…
through all the
layers of dark and unsure
that wild in your heart
and those flowers in your chest
and the fire in your blood
and that feeling that you’re going
to break. free. some. how.
have stirred within you
in spite of everything that has
tried to weigh heavy on your soul.
there’s always been an ache in your
back that has felt something like wings…
something inside of you has always
been trying to carry you.
– butterflies rising
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what if the
raging inside of you
is something beautiful…
your curiosity stretching
and your soul stirring…
all that wildflower energy in your veins.
and the ache is everything you’ve suffocated
for so long just trying to find some way to breathe.
and when it feels like you’re burning it all down,
you’re just still learning how to burn bright.
maybe you go a little wayward
and get a little reckless,
but be easy on your restless heart;
have a little grace with your fire…
you’re a wild butterfly finding your way,
just a girl growing wings.
– butterflies rising
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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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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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could you
love her, still…
when she’s not only
soft in your arms
but when she’s wild
with the moon and restless…
and maybe just a little out of reach
from your fingertips.
could you love her, still,
when she’s not only sweet and
resting easy on your chest,
but when she’s wild blossomed in the night
and searching for more inside of herself
than who you may think she is.
could you love her
not just when she’s flowers
but when she’s fire.
she has to know… if she lets you close…
when she blooms wild and burns bright…
could you love her, still.
– butterflies rising
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