Butterflies (Poem)

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Stride

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Thought I'd share this. It's something I wrote for a girl I no longer speak to. I haven't had a real chance to edit and make necessary corrections, but I hope you enjoy it :).

Butterflies

I cannot see the rose before me.
I cannot feel its delicate petal’s
Velvet sway across my cheek
As the crickets whisper sullenly at the moon.
The dew, like soft tears from the flowers around me,
Dampen my wings to keep me grounded with them.
My insomnia keeps my eyes heavy,
My mind distorted and conditioned,
To study and occupy this: rose metronome.
The night slowly passes as the rose petals dance before me,
Puffing sedative pollen into the air;
My eyes glaze as the clouds begin to break,
Warmth spreading over us as the sun rises.
But I feel nothing.

Slowly her eyes open wide
To the consistent tremble of her alarm clock.
She reaches over to steady the pulse,
But knocks the alarm to the floor;
The volume rising to its peak
As it slides across the floor.
She scrambles out of bed,
Ripping the plug from the wall.
She collects herself with a drawn out sigh.
She walks herself downstairs,
Pulling on a bath robe as she goes.
On her last step, she feels her weight crush
Onto her ankle and feels it roll.
She falls onto the hard wood floor,
Her flush cheeks sliding; burning.
Frustrated, she rises and looks into the mirror
Placed perfectly at the foot of her stair.
Blood slowly trickles down to the corner of her lips,
The blemish on her cheek bringing a tear to her eye.
Her vanity pulses with anger and rage.

She slams the sliding glass door,
Entrance to the yard.
She storms toward the roses,
Tear soaked blood becoming
A damp stain on her robe.
She doesn’t notice the butterfly
Sitting oddly still on the lawn.
She reached down and plucked a rose from the garden;
The rose the butterfly was transfixed to.
She took the bulb into her hand and clenched tightly,
Crushing its beauty,
Grinding its essence into her palm
As if to make the rose feel her pain;
Her vain embarrassment.

I watched her go back into the house.
I was able to smell her remnant perfume.
I was able to feel the wind beneath my wings
As she rushed away with the rose still clamped
Tightly in her hand.
I’m able to lift myself off the ground,
Flying in circles upward to the sky,
To see,
To witness.
I glance back down to the house below,
And see her emerging back into the yard.
I rush down to greet her,
The key to the chains that held me.
I land gently upon her shoulder,
But she hasn’t yet noticed.
Her eyes buried in her forearm,
Faint cries surfacing through the fabric of her robe.
I climb up her shoulder to her neck,
And flap my wings in her ear.
Her head jolts upright,
Shocked and begins to flail violently.
I fly closely above her, waiting for her to calm.
She peaks her head out from under her arms,
And I fly down to where she can see me.
I try to impress her with flips and fluttering;
I must get her to smile.
She puts out her hand for me to land,
And softly I place myself on the tip of her thumb.
She is smiling.

We left each other as the sun began to descend.
We mused how the colors of my wings began to change
As the sun show its pinks and purples
In the radiant dusk.
Perched on her lawn chair,
I watch her close the glass door,
Fading away into the darkness of her home.
Solemn is my sing,
As my temptation guides me back to the garden.
To find another rose,
To laugh with my addiction.
I come upon a yellow rose,
My flight stuttering as its dance
Quickly takes over me.
It is there that I stand euphoric in the moonlight,
Reality slipping; carried away by the noise of crickets.

She coo’s ever so softly
Waking to the wind flowing beneath the curtains.
Her gaze is soft as she heads back into the yard,
Watching and waiting for the butterfly to reappear,
Thumbing nervously at the chipped paint on her chair.
As time passed, her hair began to dry
Parting it ways between the wind,
Scratching at her eyes in its boredom.
She stood up hastily,
Irritated at the butterfly.
She went over to the garden and sat,
Blades of grass crawling between her fingers,
Ripped from their roots as she brings the blades
Closer to her eyes.
She gently blew them away, watching them fall
Scattered amongst their brothers and sisters.
As trimmed grass settled,
Her eyes were caught by a yellow rose in the distance.
The rose was beckoning her forward,
Coercing her stare with the beauty of its petals.
She doesn’t notice the butterfly
Softly flapping its wings to the rhythm of the dance.
She sits to witness the freedom of the plant,
Wishing to become the beauty and freedom
That this rose kept within itself.
A fit of jealousy succumbs her,
Tears again, dripping to the corners of her cheeks.
Licking them away,
Enjoying the taste of the bitter salt
As it dries her slithering tongue.
With the malice and fear she before had,
She ripped the rose from its stalk,
Feeling its beauty emanate in her hands like a pulse.
Slowly her hand closed around the bulb,
Felling the petals grind against her fingers.
As her fist clenched tighter,
She could feel a warm stream forming,
Flowing faster and faster as her hand clenched tighter.
She could feel a pool forming below her,
Splashing against her feet.
But her grin was not toward the ground.
Her eyes were pointed at the sun,
Her pupils burning; their cores lightening.

The butterflies trance broke once again.
He looked from side to side,
Vision blurred by the hours of constant staring.
He wanted the rose.
He wanted to see her dance,
To sync his wings with draft of the petals.
He saw the slender green body,
Where her head had settled.
As his vision came more into focus,
His eyes caught the glimmer of yellow
Sparkling from the rays of the sun.
He rushed over to sparkle,
Longing for his rose to be there staring back at him.
His eyes came upon the pool,
Twitching as reality flavored his sweat.
He landed cautiously so not to disturb the pool.
Not noticing the giantess standing before him.
He looked into the pool,
Looking at himself; embracing the yellow aura
That overtook his reflection.
He began to drink.
The nectar sliding down his throat,
Warming his stomach,
Lessening the twitch of his eye.
He pulled his head out of the pool to breath,
The yellow pollen dripping from his troubled smile.
For a moment he stared blissfully back at himself,
Eyes rolling in their haze,
Cementing his shattered mind.
The pool became disturbed.
It rippled his reflection
Causing him to look up from himself.
The head of the rose caught his eye first.
It lay motionless; crumpled next to the pool.
He noticed it flux like it was trying to breath,
But like a fish upon land,
He witnesses its last gasping breath as it came to settle.
He looked back into the pool.
He noticed the yellow was distilled,
Its vibrancy lost as his tears entered the pool.
It was in the reflection of the pool that he now noticed her.
He eyed the yellow pollen dripping from her elbow,
Following the stream back to her unclenched had.
His anger came like a torrent of rain.
He burst from the ground and flew toward outline in the sun.
He flew past her hair to the front of her eyes,
His wings flapped violently.

She was not startled by the intrusion of the butterfly.
Her eyes left the sun and settled upon the grass.
She took two steps forward,
Ignoring the butterfly raging before her.
She sat down before the entrance to the garden,
Scanning the beauty with the perception of her eyes.
The butterfly persisted.
She talked to him calmly,
Questioning his behavior.
The butterfly could only clap his wings harder
His rage taking over him.
His muscles never tired,
But strengthened in the blind; numb anger that he felt.
She could only watch as the butterfly became undone.
She looked on in horror as one of its wings snapped
And fell loosely to the ground.
His motion stumbled
But kept in the air.
No tears falling,
His face lost in stasis.
She can see his left wing begin to rip from his body,
And can only look on; her mouth locked open,
Her body seized in shock.
The final wing departed to the ground,
As well as the torso of the butterfly.
She watched wind pick up and carry him
Only a foot away from where she sat.

As the wind carried him,
His mind began to slow.
The roses he passed flashed before his eyes.
He was able to marvel at each of them,
Taking in their aura; breaking his anger,
And filling him with warmth.
The wind dropped him,
And he felt his descent to the ground.
He felt the pollen parting from his back
As he splashed into the pool.
Slowly he began to choke on the pollen,
Inhaling it straight his brain,
His eyes spastic as his blood and entity
Flourished with the pollen.

The girl rose.
She inched toward the pool,
Tears again streaming her face.
She kneeled down in front of the pool.
No trace of the butterfly.
She sifted through the pool to find its body,
But her finger tips dripped only the watery essence of the flower,
Her nails carrying only dirt.
She rose once more
Her eyes looking back up to the sky,
The half-moon lazily staring back at her.
She took her eyes back to the sliding glass door;
To the darkness that filled her home.
The roses watching her fade into the darkness,
Saddened and alone.
 

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