she’s flowers and fire.
– butterflies rising
Read More →Tag: Spirituality
a wild butterfly finding your way…
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
Read More →…all that wildflower energy in your veins…
she’s beautiful chaos and wild butterflies…
earth, fire, water, sky…
earth, fire, water, sky…
wild, soft, free… and full of flowers.
she makes everything beautiful,
everything about her is made of soul.
– butterflies rising
Read More →a soft lover, and a wild wanderer…
road trip…
Road Trip…
just give me
your young, wild heart,
and i’ll give you
my young, wild heart,
and we’ll light up every city and
burn through every town
with how it feels
– butterflies rising
Read More →trust fall…
maybe there are
a few hard edges in you
and they just need a little soft touch,
and there are these tender places
in me that just need to know
this is a good love,
and maybe that thing i feel in the
way you take my hand…
how it’s slow, but certain,
i think it’s how we feel the light come in,
and maybe for just this moment
a little softness, and a little good love…
that’s all we have to be.
– trust fall
– butterflies rising
Read More →the reckoning…
you cannot try to silence
a collective pain for so long and not
expect a collective rage to eventually come.
– butterflies rising
Read More →love my flowers and fire…
the next time
a boy wants to bring me flowers,
he has to want to love
my fire too.
– butterflies rising
Read More →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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