i’ve got dreams…
ones that are drenched in art
and taste like adventure…
ones that feel like
being kissed until my heart bursts…
ones that open up my whole soul
like a wildflower on fire.
– butterflies rising
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she wanders
out in the flowers,
in the wild, where the breathing
is easy and free… because it’s where
the judgment goes quiet…
and everything beautiful is so untouched.
it’s just beautiful. and wild. and fearless.
and whether it grows into something more
or burns down and has to start again,
it just does… fearlessly.
beautifully. and wild.
so she wanders out where she
can learn to see herself that way;
to see herself in the way that she looks
at flowers… like she’s a beautiful
wildness on fire.
– butterflies rising
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she’s butterfly-wild,
chasing all those inner fires,
her restless spirit
aching for something beautiful,
reaching for something more,
so flower-sweet and fire-wild,
she’s got all those big dreams inside of her,
taking hold and trying to stretch her,
trying to grow her,
her wandering spirit
aching to find its way to open-air,
searching for something golden
and sun-kissed,
reaching for so. much. more.
craving an untamed freedom
that tastes like pulse and heartbeat
and deep breath and wild skin.
and she feels it all. and she will find it.
because she’s meant for it…
she’s got all that wildflower energy
in her veins.
– butterflies rising
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go where you can
stretch out and reach
wide and high
and bloom wild and untamed
and be unapologetic in your essence
and reckless in your fire
and golden in your skin
and so. easy. in your breathing…
just. go.
go where you breathe free.
– butterflies rising
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i didn’t know it
for most of my growing up…
but my mama had dreams.
dreams that weren’t of ring shapes and dress colors.
she had dreams that were drenched in art
and tasted like adventure…
ones that felt like being kissed
until her heart burst…
ones that opened up her whole soul
like a wildflower on fire.
but i didn’t know it.
i didn’t know it because she tucked them away
in pretty memory boxes
and hid them in tattered journals that
she pushed aside for perfectly-scripted scrapbooks,
and she buried all her burning desires under
yes ma’ams and sunday dresses
and sweet, supportive smiles,
while any part of her that ever maybe might
could’ve known that she mattered…
by herself, for herself,
and belonging. to. herself.
suffocated quietly under the white noise
of all those voices that had told her that
all that really mattered
was that she had been chosen… by him.
and when i started to see that inside of her
was a whole other woman that she ached to be…
i knew i couldn’t go through my life aching for the me
i’d never be, in that same way.
so all i’ve ever wanted… is to know that i matter.
by myself. for myself. and belonging to myself.
chosen by no one, but me.
– butterflies rising
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she’s a flower
out in the wilderness…
touched by moonlight
and free in the open air
and wild sun
– butterflies rising
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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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