******* WORDS,
A BUNCH OF ******* WORDS
THAT’S ALL I HAVE LEFT,
A BUNCH OF ******* WORDS

WRITE, ******* WRITE, WRITE,
WRITE SOME ******* WORDS
WRITE, WRITE, WRITE MY ******* WORDS

******* WORDS,
THEY’RE JUST ******* WORDS
WHY EVEN ******* BOTHER
THEY’RE JUST ******* WORDS

******* WORDS IN MY HEAD
******* WORDS ON MY PAGE
******* WORDS,
THEY’RE ONLY ******* WORDS

I ghost people at times
I cannot assure
To stay in right mind
all the time.
I cannot pretend to
Like everything every-time

I’m emotionally deranged
In layers of sublime
Ghosting Helps me
To come back
With one breath at a time.

Do you know
how butterflies come to life?
It’s more frightening
than you might think.

Born crawling
a caterpillar,
close to the ground
naïve to the sky
simply existing,
tasting the world
leaf by leaf.

And then
it begins.
A hush inside the body,
a quiet undoing.
Behaviors shift,
instincts sharpen,
the soul sketches its wings in secret.
The old self unravels.

Did you know
that little caterpillar
melts into goo?
Not a creature in waiting
just formless, floating cells.
And from that
a butterfly emerges,
grown entirely
from what was already there.

I’ve been stuck in that goo
the nowhere between
trauma and metamorphosis,
neither alive nor lost,
just suspended.

But this summer
brought tears as ink,
and from the scribbled ache
came liberating wings
fragile but certain,
drawn from silence.

I've started flying.
But I still glance down
when I shouldn’t
afraid that my pride and joy
will be mistaken for arrogance.
Yet I’m proud
proud that I can love again.
Proud that flying
feels so familiar.

I like to land
booping noses of dogs
showing up beside strangers
on quiet benches.
To hear their voices
for the very first time
to sense the tremble
of their own becoming.
And when I look,
I see it:
a shimmer in their stillness,
a whisper in their pause.
The butterfly
still hidden in its goo.

And I hope
they’ll pass it on
this softness,
this seeing.

That ripple we call
the butterfly effect

One breath, we were family
the next, two silhouettes unrecognisable.

Are we strangers now?
I’m unsure.
But I do know this:
we stood, souls stripped,
bare in the quiet between us.

I wanted to trust you
to lay my heart in your palms
like kindling,
hoping you’d keep it warm.

Still, I ache.
Not just for your touch,
but for that fierce, wordless belonging.