I wish you could see me
More than my gaze,
More than my smile
I wish you could hear more than these words
That I’m speaking out loud

Your eyes wander up and down slowly against my silhouette
Yearning my embrace, craving my warmth
Just to fill your thirst with your empty glass
Eyes that lust - dress me up in lies.
Gouge them out and throw them away, please - If you can not, meet me in purity

Haunted by tomorrow’s hopes,
I wish you could see me.
Not just idolize or fantasize
I am not your projection
I am not your sacred prize
I wish - you could see me.

Immaturity loves Shiny objects,
Because that’s what beings are to IT - objects, right?

IT caught a Butterfly and caged her in,
Just to boast: “I touched her Wing.”
But never asked how Light is fed,
Or why the Stars sleep in her head

IT wants to say IT once touched Divinity,
But not honor it, nor grow with it

In seeking to cage the Butterfly,
You lost the chance to learn
how to tend your own Light
in the presence of one
Who carried Sun in her wings

I can never be enough,
Or fully myself.
You want me to limit my presence for your liking,
Need to be careful not to shine too bright, Otherwise you’ll go running to the shadows. There’s the comfort zone..
Did I scare you?

“Too much” - what does that even mean?

Perhaps it’s just the trembling scream
Of egos fearing what they lack,
So they attack or turn their backs,
Since her fullness can only be tolerated in fragments.


If you want to stay in your comfort zone,
By all means go ahead, regress.
But don’t expect me to conform.

I don’t operate for likes,
Or to have people understanding me anyway. I know all wisdom seekers were also once never understood,
So I don’t expect you to.
But nobody told me how lonely
This path of Truth was to be walked upon.

This is the ache of the mystic,
The healer, the truth teller
The one who feels so much, Sees so deeply
Yet must often walk
Without being truly met

Still…

I wish you could See Me.

every time i wake up, i always think of one thing

why.

why do i look like this?
why do i act like this?
why am i alive?

that fixed mindset took me no where in life but a deep spiral of unanswered thoughts and questions


-----------------------------------------------------­----------------------------------------


as i walk through my path I come across a creature
a beautiful one at that

it had teal wings like silk
white spots to complement itself
and flies so majestically
so smooth and attractive

i follow it to see what it was
what this organism was

as i stop in my tracks, still as water
i came to realize that this creature was a butterfly
when it landed my soft skin it felt like i was shocked with hope
it gave me a new path of life i've never imagined

now,

i live a life where my eyes are truly open
open to see the light of things around me

I was born with 12 eyes
they said it would make it easier
to see the light
but it only left me inching
in a fog
hiding from shape-shifting shadows.
So I learned to consume the dark
with my mandibles
and let it seep in to my hemolymph.
The parasitoids laid out fences
of peppermint and lavender -
trying to cage me.
But the oak tree took me in
and let me rest upon her leaves -
told me to shed my old skin.
I hung myself upside down under her branches
tried to see the world from their point of view
but there was still so little light,
and the birds were cawing
threatening to have me for breakfast.
I learned to hold myself tightly,
wrapped in imaginal discs
that liquified my dreams
into a rich soup for me to drink.
I emerged
soft and wet -
with ommatidia that see in all directions
and bear witness to invisible colors;
and with wings formed like dragon scales,
that move in the shape of infinity.
Now I feast with my feet,
feeding on nectar of Chloris
and cross continents
while they marvel at how far I have come
from the ground they tried to keep me on.

The sky is full of it;
Soft sounds in the hue.
His eyes remind you of it,
A calm and never-ending blue.
The ocean reflects it,
As the waves move ever so lightly,
Like the bluish flowers in the light.
Its colors mirror the sky,
A truly beautiful sight.
In its journey, full of life and glee,
A butterfly can never see
The beauty of its own blue wings.
Its true colors only a heart can look through,
As its wings flutter out of view,
Into the bright blue sky over me and you.

Somewhere deep inside of me,                                                            
                                                                ­                                              
there's an insect squirming                                                        ­              
                                                  ­                                                            
waiting for an opportunity                                                      ­                            
                                    ­                                                                 ­                   
or a perfect morning                                                          ­                              
                                  ­                                                                 ­                     
It laid dormant for so long,                                                            ­              
                                                                ­                                                       
I thought it was dead                                                             ­                         
                                       ­                                                                 ­              
but I was dead wrong,                                                           ­                         
                                                                ­                                                          
it chose to be hidden instead                                                          ­                
                                                ­                                                                 ­     
I would get a glimpse of it                                                               ­                                                                 ­                              
                                                                ­                                      
Somedays, I would cover it up                                                               ­   
                                                                ­                                                      
I tried to forget about it                                                               ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                            
                                                                ­                                                  
but it was never enough                                                           ­                   
                                                                ­                                                  
One day it just emerged,                                                         ­       
                                                         ­                                                      
quite by mistake                                                          ­                                                                                                                      ­                                               
right on the verge of its big break                                                    
                                                                ­                                                     
 It struggled inside of me,                                                              ­            
                                                                ­                                                      
I could feel it writhe                                                           ­                           
                                     ­                                                                 ­                
It wanted to be free,                                                            ­                          
                                                                ­                                                      
I could sense it try                                                              ­                                
                                ­                                                                 ­             
What could this insect be?                                                              ­                
                                                                ­                                                      
It was a butterfly

Pancakes are fluffy, soft,
Her cuteness reaches the Sky,
Amongst blooming flowers
A beautiful butterfly.

Waffles are firm, Krispy,
And yet tender is his care,
Love can make a castle
And he is a building square!

Waffles and Pancakes:
Soft and Firm. Fluffy against Crispy?
Yet somehow mixing them isn't risky!
They journey together, hand in hand,
Their love unites the land!

I am your Waffle,
You are my Pancake,
And no matter what,
Our love won't ever shake!

The nature pays its debt to mother earth,
furnishing the soils and skies,
with beauty on wings
and beauty on greens.
The stars and the moons,
lovers and poems,
reflecting it's metamorphosis
flashing at the earth.

And a caterpillar hatches out from pearls,
looking upon sensations of freedom,
holding between his teeth, a leaf green of life,
it nibbles on life,
brimming with juvenescence.
It once takes a leap seeing a brightly coloured wings flapping,
wishing flight.
And one pleasant night,
the night laid its eyes on it,
and it trembled,
building a soft cocoon to hide in.

Hunger gushes in and kicks its warm belly,
and it breaths in the air
tangled in emotions,
misery and anger,
disgust and fear,
strength and sweetness,
weakness and bitterness,
surprise and happiness.
It weaves a blanket out of it in leisure,
thin as air and strong as a storm
wrapping it around its wiggly self,
and breaking the cocoon.

The moon falls in love
with the oenomel creature,
and watches it take off to please eyes,
and imparting color.
Love slides and plays on its wings of hope
and it calls itself,
A Butterfly.