When I was young, I had a short lived fascination with being a butterfly catcher
I became obsessed with seeing all the different kinds I could find in books.
I would look thru those books and think to myself. Chase the monarch? huh. Yeah right.
I want the most exotic butterfly of them all. I want the uncatchable.
I want the prize so I can hold it high and say
This here! This one is mine! I traversed a 12ft wall of green jungle
with fever I wiped my brow and on the tree’s bough I caught him
in my grasp tightly he was, just for a moment, he was mine.
he fought and clawed and clammored within my grasp,
under my net, he bellowed and he thrashed
and I admired him with all his might and grace
his beauty a breathtaking moment, never to be replaced
a spectacle unseen by the entire world, except me
who marveled at his dance that he cast before me
I will always chase after the butterfly that can’t be catched
an adventurer at the heart, chasing only after the big cats
I wasn’t made to be charmed by the simplicity of monarchs
never swam with dolphins, instead choosing to swim with the sharks
learn to swim with them or be eaten alive
a book that can be found
among the rolodex of my mind
and monarchs were never challenge enough for me
I need sheer velveteen complexity
the peculiar charm of Lemarchand’s Box
a puzzle within a puzzle
an infinite looping paradox
I want to win the unattainable prize at the local arcade
i want to see my name at the top of the list of the hardest game
I want the world to see what I worked so hard for
and I want the world to marvel at what my hard work has gained
I want the title of the CEO and I want the world in my hands obtained
I want to smash all the little people with my two feet
and I want them too scared to walk the path that I have made
you’ll need chainmail and swords if you want to take this mission
you’ll need a heart of gold and selling your soul is the price of admission
if you want to catch the world’s most rare and exotic butterfly
you’ll have to first take a walk inside the jungle of my mind
if you want to learn the 6th love language than read this and take your time
his honey has been sought after by the queen and kings of historical times
I’ve bent my stem backwards upon budding in his direction
each petal, slowly terrified of this butterflies mouth erection
one by one I cautiously bloom, as I sense his thirst for my nectar core
oh how I beg the sun to make me the sweetest flower, evermore
the first of its kind to be grown in this field of flowers on the floor
oh sun, take me and bend me high to your light
and let him see all the gifts my golden god has given me
and let him drink of all of me, and give him the gift of sight
open up his eyes and let him dance with me
I hold him up, a pedestal, I raise him with all my might
i am strong enough to hold his weight, sturdy enough for his fight
the flower and the butterfly is a dance that many don’t see
how the sad flower is willing to let him drain herself empty
so that he might fly away stronger and never hungry
so that he might share with another, the treasures of her honey
all so that she might fall into wonder at his iridescent beauty
honey in exchange for a moment with him, a love language
that was curated from the touch of his fingers slowly diving within
the walls of her petals and the core of her eye, it opens wider
as his touch is that from the gods within the skys
equip me with sunglasses so I might shade myself
from the dangerous burn that will permanently blind thy eye
looking to long at his beauty is a curse that will linger with time
he bounced upon the suns rays that was cast upon my fragile arms
I giggled and he gave me more, his intuition was on par
He attentively studied how to surf the waves of my jubilation
my submission was nature only taking it’s natural course
and the more and more he listened, to the winds that called his name
he perfected the dance of my flower on his fingers
and the honey that dripped down the wrist of his domain
I lie awake, night after night, locked in the ecstasy of his dream
where he whispers angelic prophecies to his little saraphim
tied down by the memory of the orgasms he brings
tied down to the heroin he injects into my brittle veins
my love language is simply the brush of his hand against my tummy
the smack of his stern hand and the rush that melts me into putty
the command of his wants and the taking of his needs
makes me helpless to his beckoning and has me falling to my knees
drink of me, eat of me, and I give thee my everything
the key to wonderland is a taste away on the wave of my ecstasy
white rabbit running farther away and father time falling faster
i fall ever so clumsily down the everlong abyss of my master
my eyes not able to keep up with the speed
my hair wisping about as you ignore my lustful low toned plea’s
to let me break free of your grasp that has me tied to infinity
everyone is laughing at me as I sit with the hatter and drink his tea
I’m a naive little girl for him and he’s an expert at making a fool of me
but it’s not his eyes that have me locked
but that of the cat that sits on the tree
he talks like a snake he does,
he winds his words about like a mystery
tongue tied I get and tongue tied I be,
while he sways his tail back and forth
a metronome that has me hypnotized on the melody
of a remarkable love that’s always just out of reach, for me
i’m not what you really want little deary
the cat smiles with teeth so big and eyes so bright
i’m reminded of that story
of the wolf that dressed in red and pretended to be granny
pretended to be the one whom would possibly love me
told me I could one day have a love so much more than great
but with him, it was never anything promised for my fate
the way he weaved his words were meant to take my soul away
to drain me dry and under the sun ,without water I do dehydrate
the mirage he painted was a place I’d dipped my toes into the oasis
little red riding hood likes being lied to and drops her cape for his embraces
as she’s addicted to the sound his mouth makes when he’s persuasive
dependent on the way his eyes are always overly invasive
he melts away my defenses and my confidence he erases
I cling to his love language like something wild and tenacious
I’m hypnotized by the wolfs sharp grin, I’m his food he graces
thanking our holy father for this meal that has been given
and I give myself to him, little red in the belly of the beast
a place where I feel most content, being the centerpiece of his feast
my womanhood crying out to me, to give up my most sweet
of nectar for his feeding and my breast aching for his teeth
I have never felt heaven as I have under the bite of his jaw
i am subdued to forever be locked within the grasp of his law
I do not roam his fairy tales with my own free will
I am always the naive little girl and he’s always be the
villain following closely on my trail
he will be the caterpillar that smokes weed
whom confuses and distraughts me
he is the high I feel in the mushroom forest
as I get lost on the melancholy
of the time lost by the absence of him
away from him
the story ends
the neverending story, will it begin?
someone help me stand up high and raise my auryn
the childlike empress needs my help to summon
out the nothingness
she needs a name, I hear them say
I need a name! what is my name!
I can’t breath in this nothiness!
I can’t breath, without him!!
He gives power to my auryn.
The 6th love language is him upon my skin
it’s his stories weaving in my head
and the fantasies I have of him
My love language is found spiraling
in the universe of his hazelnut chocolate eyes
my fishing pole getting lost and my patience running dry
the white rabbit getting fed up because we are running out of time
my oh my oh my oh my, look at the time, would you look at the time
eventually the chapter of him will come to a close and
he’ll be replaced with a new one in time.
and the cycle repeats
and a new diamond will shine
he’ll sit on a shelf with dust and with grime
to be opened in the future some other time
to reminisce on the memories I made with him
to remind my grandkids that love can exist
to save love in the history books for the critics
to the broken hearted who bore witness
to my sacrificial offering of love within lyrics
to a man whom I wanted to love
a man I indeed, made love to
who didn’t make love to me
and it was the saddest story
of a flower who wanted to be
in love with a butterfly, who couldn’t be
la fin
