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Jun 2015
Most of the time
it's a four letter word
that you want to avoid.
But this one is different
in so many ways.
It's longer--
in the pangs of pain it leaves...
That pain lasts longer than any butterflies.
Because butterflies come in the beginning,
and no sooner than this word is spoken
their wings are broken
leaving them unwilling and unable to fly.
And the pain you feel,
the pit in your stomach,
and the cloudy darkness in your eyes,
is how this word leaves them to die.
It's the "hell" in hello
(and there's no good part of it,
despite what you've heard.
What does that even mean, parting on "good terms"?).
I mean,
sometimes it's what you need--
this ***** word--
it's sometimes necessary.
But even fragile butterflies' wings
need provocation
to be broken
the glass won't shatter
with simple words unspoken,
or their beauty being forgotten.
Their crystalline glass has to crack
before it meets the breaking point.
But maybe it's best, sometimes, leaving things unsaid.
Maybe it's better
pretending that your heart hasn't bled
for the death
of those beautiful creations.
Maybe all can be well,
not tainting your hello
by dragging it through the muddy waters of hell.
But maybe attempting that
is diving straight into the deep end
damning yourself to all but drown
in that personal
pool of hell....
But maybe once this word is uttered,
you're damning some part of yourself as well
letting go of what once was so special.
And maybe that's why it's a ***** word.
maybe that's why it'd be better
if it were only four letters.
Because this word darkens skies,
and kills butterflies.
It breaks hearts
and diminishes the light
in Innocent's eyes.
This word ends hope
of new beginnings,
or anything close to extra innings.
This word reminds you you've lost the game.
This word finalizes the score,
no matter how much you might want more
time
or conversations,
or butterfly wings.
This word is a light switch,
but it only reads "off."

so say
g̶o̶o̶d̶bye                                              ­    
to the lights
the "maybe"s
the  "someday we might"s
and the butterflies.
Those butterflies died when we uttered goodbye.
Makenzie Marie
Written by
Makenzie Marie  23/F/Pocatello, Idaho
(23/F/Pocatello, Idaho)   
556
     Makenzie Marie, --- and Speen Cough
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