there’s always been a voice inside that you could hear, you’ve just been conditioned not to trust it… but 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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you’re out there
and i’m here wishing i could
reach for you as easy
as a star could cross a sky…
just fall across your chest
and feel it all again.
your way of settling my madness with
that soft… slow… “baby” late at night,
and how you feel like everything beautiful
i can’t make sense of.
it’s a dangerously pretty edge
when you’re here,
but there’s a wild ache when you’re not,
and my axis pulls and pulls to
wherever you are.
i still feel you, and i miss you
and i miss you…
you are the sweetest feeling i know.
– butterflies rising
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you’re out there… and i’m here… wishing i could reach for you as easy as a star could cross a sky.
– butterflies rising
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have a little grace with your fire…
you are a wild thing, but you
are such a tender thing
– 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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