The wrong, as always, was the right for us, tainted trust stained with the blood of our previous victims; those whims of wondering what loving touch could feel like. It burnt us, softened us to smoke, that floated quiet out the door before dawn could break the news and break the illusion.
We were loners, Devoted to laying the stones of our own path, Never held back tangles of commitment. Without them we were untethered dreams that broke into reality and made ourselves the monarchs of our lowley, lonely kingdoms.
Look what those whims have done to our crowns; Rusty and bent they fall hapless on our heads as we stand before crowds of shadows cast by our egos.
There are no romances, no capes, Princes or heroes in this land of the leftovers. Only us The wrong adorned as right The deniers of the light of love (That weakness of giving in and giving all). How cold it all becomes when our dreams are big but hearts are empty.
I wish we could all be traditional heroes from way back then, who answered to people's beck and call. But now we've blurred the line between suffering and falsehood, and just as people can scoff at the silenced weak, the words of our present heroes can be as soothing as whispering to a festered wound.
if he were not the president of a superpower that claims to be the beacon of democracy we all could laugh more easily and openly
about the way he lies with almost every utterance uses foul language, insults & invective openly shares his racist views lowers the level of accepted public speech like no U.S. president before snuggles up to monarchs and dictators and does not understand they play him for a fool
antiquated ideas of trickle-down economy add nothing to his silly promises of making his country great again (no real need, has never been small)
after two years in office it is clear his retrograde policy leads what once used to be a democratic nation of great promise quite independent will and vital multicultural diversity into a world of yesterday not to a better future
all it does is make him and the whole nation the **** of wary global laughter the kind usually given to the joker in superman movies
I promise not to write about (U.S.) politics for at least a month ...8-(
Two monarchs cross paths dancing around eachother. With words so airy, one should know to be wary of what will be said next.
"How does your son fair?" "Fairs as well as yours I presume." "Yours always had a knack for flair." "Yours always could wow a room."
Disguised insults spoken. Each compliment flapped away with wings that carry the monarch to their next test. Where they'll see which flowers they like best. To gather in support of their queens.
"You know what would be tragic?" "Why do you continue to speak?" "If a son were to fall to magic, before his heart could take a beat."
The two monarchs parted ways. Promises rolling off their tongues as sweet as the nectar they drank. But were designed to attack the other's rank. Their success depends on the other's defeat.
Conversation stalls as the monarchs fly home. On wings decorated so finely. Each of their thoughts seem to turn towards their sons Just caterpillars before their transformations. Weaving their chrysalis with determination.
Though they're far apart the monarchs speak the same words
"I fear for you, my son, in this great world, Our reign can never last for long. But I wish for you to have your chance To encapture the world in a trance With a grace bestowed upon your wings I wish for you to make others sing. For I've seen the tragedy of the other king Just before transformation I saw a caterpillar die in its chrysalis."
My healing began Six months into my recovery When I tattooed a monarch on my arm And tried to ignore the irony That what I had chosen to protect myself Was something so laughably fragile But what people don't understand Is that monarchs are migrational They may only live six months But they travel over 3,000 miles All the way from Canada to Mexico And back again They see more in those six months of life Then most humans do in a lifetime They live
So maybe my butterfly Wasn't about protection at all Maybe it was just my decision to live.
Dandelion dreams wisped from The lips of summers past, Lips tasted And gilded became the cage, So to, ushered, My sense of belonging. I tried to move on, An couldn’t And she knew it; She knew that I couldn’t The moment – I’d fallen upon her lap As she grabbed one more Dandelion And took one more breath And blew the dead petals Whilst making the wind somehow Dance, and I, The fool once more – In love and unable to flee.
She asked me to "stay in her bowl," and I did; I'm still there and I'm a-o-k with that.