the butterfly

at first, all i saw was a butterfly.

it was flying above the grass at the park, i was having a picnic.

it was pretty and it was green .

not grass green, but lime green.

then, i remembered that green was the color of your room before you redecorated it last summer

and then i saw your room and what it used to look like before you thought your drawings were stupid and before you decided you liked purple more.

from there, i saw you and how you looked last week and then how you made me laugh really hard the other night.

then, i thought if we will ever go anywhere.

and then i think about other people who might be more exciting than you, but how you’re nice too.

i think about my friend’s friend and how maybe he’s fun to talk to.

then, i get going on conversations.

i remember that i want to meet an aquarius, because i heard that they are really compatible with gemini’s and

what i really think i need right now is someone i’m compatible with.

no more of this taurus-virgo bullshit!

but, she’s a taurus and he’s a capricorn.

i think that maybe they’ll be the exception, but, in the back of my mind, i know neither of them will be because taurus are too routine, stubborn, and clingy for me and capricorn-

well, i don’t know much about capricorn, but i looked up our compatibility and it’s not good.

and that will be stuck in the back of my head for just about ever.

now, i completely forget about you and him and her and conversations and zodiac signs, (particularly taurus, virgos, and capricorns) and then i think about the lyrics to the sing deceptecon by le tigre and then i think about the whole riot grrrl movement

and how i wish i was apart of it and how i wonder if it’s still alive today in any form and how if it is then those people involved are people i wanna know.

i think about how i need to make a new playlist and

about how cluttered my playlists are along with my mind and then i get overwhelmed because i get overwhelmed easily.

how maybe if i make a new playlist with music other than rap i’ll feel better and life will make much more sense then.

and then i snap back into it because the lady giving me a massage hits my back harder than expected and tells me she’s finished with the massage and my neck still hurts, oh, and i was never looking at a butterfly at all.

photo credit: pinterest.com
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Write to write, you know? (w.v. II)

I think I should stop trying to be eloquent and just try to be authentic. The words will come on their own.

I’ll write just to write, you know?

I love talking. I love that I can talk to people so easily most of the time. But, sometimes, I hate it too, because we all just say the same things over and over and over every time. It gets boring.

Image via Pinterest.com

And I find myself saying over and over that I want to go somewhere far away from here. I want to go everywhere that is not here and stay there for a very long time.

And I find myself saying over and over that I would never love anyone like that.

And I know I love you! But sometimes I also just hate you! I love that you are open and introspective and so sure of yourself, but sometimes I wish you would just shut up!

But, I do like that you write about it all. I didn’t know that before. I think that’s the one thing you do without over-thinking and without trying to so hard to look like you aren’t trying.

I just want to be authentic.

a familiar demon; revisited

why does it always wear off so quickly?

all of a sudden-

so blinding, exciting, and new-

but it fades and i see your true colors.

i see every mistake you’ve ever made.

i see how i painted you and i see how you actually are.

such a sad thing,

living off the infatuation,

going into everything praying it won’t end too quickly.

but it always does.

not knowing whether it’s a genuine sentiment or the excitement of the attention.

i ignore all of your tricks;

they no longer work for me.

when i start getting bored, i start noticing how you walk a little weird,

how you have a poor vocabulary,

and how you are much cleaner than i’ll ever be.

i pick you apart.

i don’t want to,

but my brain simply won’t have otherwise.

i can’t live a white lie.

it’s discouraging, you know?

not knowing if i have the complexity to be able to get past this.

am i interested or is it just the trick my mind plays on me only to result in a painful goodbye?

(for you)

make a monster out of me,

i understand.

probably one more week until i’m completely over it.

yet again,

what’s wrong with me?

why can’t i just stay infatuated

both for me

and for you.

 

photo credit: pinterest.com

 

A While

It’s been a while since we’ve all been birds,

since we’ve embraced our cold grey skies,

photo credit: ak9.picdn.net

flapped our wings,

chirped a song,

scattered across the horizon,

with no care but its infinite existence.

It’s been a while since we’ve been wildflowers,

since we’ve sprouted with the spring,

mismatched our colors,

photo credit: cdn.pixabay.com

and lived within that beauty of simply living.

It’s been a while since

we’ve shot our birds

and mowed down our flowers.

It’s been a while since we’ve figured that

there’s a different way to live,

with scary grey skies and plain flowers.

It’s been a while since we’ve forgotten our ways,

our happy freedom and

our beautiful purposelessness.

It’s only now that we realize that

there’s no going back.

To a Stranger in Brooklyn Heights

Dear stranger in Brooklyn Heights,

I don’t know much about you, but I can infer some things.

I think you are someone who cares about your belongings.

Like your copy of Spoon River Anthology, for example.

Photo Credit: pinterest.com

I think you care about it because you stamped it twice – once inside the front cover and once inside the back.

Maybe you just didn’t want to lose it and for it to be returned to you if it ever did get lost.┬áBut, if that’s the case, how did it end up in a used bookstore in a town 3,000 miles away?

I would want to know which poems are your favorites, but it seems like you never read them. The pages are nearly perfect, despite being printed in 1962.

I wish I could ask you some questions.

How old were you when you bought it? How old are you now? Why didn’t you read it? How did it end up with me?

I don’t know who you are, but I want to say thank you. Your book that was originally sold for 95 cents is now my book that was sold to me for three dollars.

And now I have a story within a story, thanks to you.

I’m not sure if you still live in New York or if any of my assumptions about you were correct or if you’re even a person at all.

But just in case I was right, once I finish the book, I’ll send it back to you.

 

A Place Behind the Hills

There is a place behind the hills,

behind the deep-dark forests and rocky roads,

Photo Credit: maureenness.com

where the trees are bright and the flowers purple.

There, storms are a pleasant breeze,

and the lakes are so clear you can see all the happy fish.

There, the sun rises at 5:30 every morning

and goes to set when you’re ready.

There, there are no downsides,

except for the cows’ bellies that swing as they walk.

But, to get there, you’ll need to run.

You’ll need to hike and climb and swim,

Photo Credit: jeremybatesbooks.com

but most importantly, you’ll need to run.

There are tall monsters and mean witches

waiting for you to stop and catch your breath,

waiting to hold you by your legs and arms

and never let you go.

So don’t catch your breath, not now.

Now is not the time, but the time will come.

Now, you must run past the monsters and witches,

Photo Credit: 4.bp.blogspot.com

through the forests and along the rocky roads,

past the dark shadows that are hunting beside you.

But then, believe me,

there is a place behind the hills,

where the trees are bright and the flowers purple.

Where the only shadows will be of the lazy cows in the sunset.

my thoughts on time.

I prefer not to measure time in minutes.

Maybe that’s because it scares me,
time does.

But, it’s comforting to think
that the same wet grass I
walked across today
will soon turn brittle and dry.

“The Persistence of Memory” via allthatsinteresting.com

It’s comforting to think
that, with the help of the rain,
the fields will fill up with wheat,
which will later be cut down
and turned into hundreds of bales of hay,
all lining the bottom of the hillsides
in a grid of little golden rectangles.

Then, in time, they will be shipped off
to somewhere far away from here
and the cows will return to eating
the new grass, gently swishing
their tails as they chew.

It’s comforting to think that
the world will continue to spin
and the sun will set tomorrow
and the next day,
just as it is meant to.

And I hope,
that in time,
I will see, and do, and live
just as I am meant to.