she’s a
wildflower on fire
with all that
sweet soul sugar
making your heart. beat.
and your skin cells rise,
she’s wild butterflies,
and the way she looks at you
under a wild moon
making your pulse move,
her beautiful chaos
asking you
to dig deep into that
passion in your bones and
bleed out all those beautiful
things that your own
wildfires hold.
– butterflies rising
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the way your
fingers fall in mine,
and how your heart is
racing wild,
and how my heart is
racing wild…
i just feel so alive
– butterflies rising
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i love all those little
pretty, dirty edges where you play…
so beautiful and wild all at once.
– butterflies rising
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how you look at
me makes me wonder…
where do i belong if not right here.
right next to you.
breathing in all the life
under these stars until this
world ends
– butterflies rising
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let yourself just
feel for a moment.
head quiet.
heart,
however… wherever… all over.
then maybe you could
see what i see…
how this chaos in us
is beautiful.
and how we don’t have
to sort it out.
if you want,
we could tell each other
everything,
but we could also say nothing,
and let this be enough.
because just this,
it’s everything.
and just you…
it’s more than enough.
– butterflies rising
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the way we
live forever young,
and the way we love…
how it feels like a forever love
we feel infinite
– butterflies rising
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just because
benevolence
and butterflies
linger on your tongue,
it does not mean
your voice cannot be
a revolution
– soft-spoken girls
– butterflies rising
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you are allowed to be lovely
and important,
to speak up, and out, and convicted
from the same mouth that tends
to love and cradles lilies
it’s stunning when you let
why you’re here spill out of you
– 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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