What is this feeling in my stomach?
The butterflies flutter nonstop—I can hear their wings beating beneath my skin.
I feel them shift from side to side,
Claiming what little remains of me.

What is it?
What is this bitter taste rising through my throat, resting on my tongue?
Why can’t I hear the butterflies anymore?
Why do I still feel this?

My mouth opens, and all I spit is blood and glass.
The sour bile of what the butterflies once were grows thick—and I can do nothing.
“Spit them out, regurgitate them, let them go!”
I can’t.

I press my chest, and slowly my arms bind themselves around my belly,
Cradle of cutting kisses—kisses that now hurt,
And no longer heal the way they used to.

I rise from mourning, only to fall again, and the butterflies begin to flutter once more,
But they no longer beat like drums or echo like thunder.
They don’t crash against my walls or hide in my corners…
They are there, but not alive.

They try to climb.
I feel them fighting each other, pushing for space up my esophagus—
Once a path for all things good,
Now a tunnel for all things painful.
I hear them scream; their tiny voices pierce my eardrums and shake my bones.

They want out.

And I understand them well:
What good is a body that dances among broken hearts?
What use are shards beneath my feet,
Reminding me how little I’ve felt?
What comfort is the weeping of a soul grown weary?
What joy lies in the bottomless hollow of a body fed by illusions?
They were made for the sun—for joy, for love—
And all I can offer is an umbrella
For the relentless rain storming inside me.
Cold, decaying rain that stains the walls and soils my shoes, instead of washing them clean.

They’re almost free—
About to escape.
But I swallow them down once more,
Just as I’ve swallowed the bile of melancholy,
Just as I’ve swallowed the tears that swore, they would soften the blades of my sharp-edged heart.

I feel them sink slowly,
Their wings now still—they’ve accepted their fate.
I don’t want to let them go,
Because they’re all I have left.
They’re all I have of what once was pain.
They’re all I have of what once was passion…

They’re all I have of what once was love.

When the dark spell was broken I began my journey;
I walked to the top of the hill.
I sang a song, along with the spotted towhee.
I saw the world below me and I strengthened my will.

I built my house in the shelter of the deep green valley,
with brick and stone, and a deep blue pool.
Under the stately pine and the swaying palm tree--
I swore to follow no man’s, but my own one rule.

A butterfly flew into my house one morn
and came to rest on my sleeping lips.
Then flew away–you know they don’t live long--
I dreamed a dream of an eternal kiss.

I awoke to find that my guardian angel
was sitting by my bed, singing his song.
“Don’t worry” he said, “I will never leave you.”
“I believe you.” I smiled. But we could both be wrong.

It took three seconds
for a cautious hello
to turn into a symphony for my soul.

I wonder if my walls still remember
the laughter that went on till dawn.
Since then, the mirror seemed kinder,
my legs moved quicker,
and my smile did not vanish.

I have never felt this way before—
sleep seemed futile,
hunger vanished.
I wrote about you
until my hands hurt.

I could feel your heartbeat
through the light blue shirt you wore.
The hidden patch of your beard was exposed.
Your words fell into mine—
look at our human noise.

The old couple looked at us in envy.
Maybe we will get there too.

The moon followed us,
and we heard wedding bells.
Your pretty hand fits well in mine—
just right.

I couldn’t wait to call you home.

Two Lost and Found butterflies.
Tears rolling down.

The most rewarding scenery is the landscape of the lovers innermost feelings and emotions  for each other and both twin butterflies.
Surely a twin's true love that never failed, even bottled in a dark dungeon- it still holds evidence of greatest reigns plotted since eges past.
Like a diamond polished, unworned by its true queen.
Its still a diamond grown in greatest friction and much heat.
A fire burning for the longest time.
Yes it may now be in the finger of the greedy liar divider murderer
on speed.
The evil trashing defamatrex
Is still a great Impostor
****** a true queen bee's,
first landscape pradise.
Forgive my metaphorical poor grade here.
I am still no poetess
Just a tragic true life kinder Garten observer of sorts.
A possible self portrait of loss and undying grief
Drowning in true events that inexplicably give me life worth living.
Its essence,the magic of true love, lost and found, found and lost,
And against all odds,retained wiithin its infinite truth
poweted only by eternal love and gratitud.
I remain in love, my beloved's
pure loves ashes,
that heals me to my core

And I'm no longer lost nor alone.
My lonely thorny crooked path,
i have left behind.
--------
By: Karijinbba
Mr and Mrs Andrews the oainting.
Rddbba All Rights Reserved.

Oh, I wish I had the wings of a butterfly!
I’d fly far, far away
and land on the prettiest flower.
I’d indulge in its peaceful beauty and sweet nectar.
I left my cocoon long ago and the present is all mine to explore.
I grew and grew for many days until my shell was no longer suitable.
Now it’s my time to be who I am.
You see,
I come with many colors.
My bright ones add light to the atmosphere.
My darker ones send coded messages to those who dare to listen.

For I am one with nature but I lack the ability of flight.
Such an ability would help me flutter more in my true self.
The weather was warm with open arms when I left my shell.
Oh I wish I could fly with the other butterflies!
But perhaps it’s better if I’m solo for some time.
I may not be as fast as them and I wouldn’t want to slow them down.

The ladybug and the shining sun will bring me proof.
Should I ever have butterfly wings,
The smiliest and prettiest flower would be my first destination.
4-15-2020
-Mia J

© 2020 Mia J

Late October,
and they have assuredly returned.

A canopy of clusters.

At second glance
the leaves on the trees are wings.

Whisper into the dreamscape
for they sense your voice.

Revive them with your breath.

Hold out your hand
like you hold out hope.

The warm sound of flutterings.

Circadian clocks in their antennae,
a sense of where they've been
and where they are going.

The gift from their Creator
moves them in the right direction.

Why I never heard music so tasteful,
With a woman so graceful.
Falling to sleep in her arms,
As the choirs gently serenade us.
Lip to lip as the lights dim,
Hand on her thigh, just how she likes it.
I'll never be able to love you the same,
Not after feeling you like this.

Red dress, modern cut, a nod to tradition.
Not gaudy, not simple, a balance found.
Her hand, offered, a father's blessing unspoken.
Pride mixed with sorrow, a future he won't see.
Love, honor, cherish, the groom's vow, a solemn oath.
Protection promised, a father's final duty.

Tears fall freely, a river of emotions.
Vows exchanged, a seal on a lifetime's journey.
The kiss, a declaration, a new chapter begins.
Then, a flutter, a swarm of butterflies descends.

One lands on her nose, a Blue-Spotted Crow, rare and bold.
Wings unfurl, a vibrant blue against her pale skin.
A message, a whisper, a father's presence felt.
She raises a finger, the butterfly shifts its perch.

A silent conversation, a daughter's tribute.
Prosperity whispered, protection assured.
Love remains, eternal, a bond unbreakable.
The Blue-Spotted Crow, a constant, enduring reminder.

The gesture, her father,
The promise, prosperity,
The honor, protection,
The Love, forever.

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