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Prayer to the ButterflyI am small and meaningless
against the nighttime sky.
Let me be a butterfly,
teach me how to fly.
I never grew my wings,
but I'd hate to stay and die.
I'll ask to be a butterfly,
they'll teach me how to fly.
My voice has left me now,
it comes back just to cry.
I'll ask to be a butterfly,
it couldn't hurt to try.
For I am finite nothingness
pressed up against the sky.
I asked to be a butterfly,
they laughed and asked back 'why?'
My heart has gone to find my voice,
it stopped and waved goodbye.
God forgive the butterfly
for asking how to fly.
And God forbid the butterfly
ask help from those who cry.
Barefoot RainstormI arrived here a barefoot rainstorm
on the wrong side of this
I was afraid of the sun
and didn't want you to care about me.
You were glittery-gold and green,
bruised grass and sun
and you cared anyway.
We were holes in knees
of our jeans, we were sewing needles,
we were sad-happy-scared
and we were here.
I trusted you.
We were clumsy,
we were laughter-dangerous
and there was blood on the floor.
You laughed as I cleaned it.
We were home,
and I learned not to hate the sun.
It's midnight this afternoon
and the sun is off the edge of the map.
And I'm barefoot in the rainstorm and an entire country from home.
And I'm clumsy,
and there's no one to laugh
as I clean myself from the floor.
(But maybe one day the clouds will go.)
(You're still green-glitter gold
[midnight's only so long]
and I still believe in our sky.)
Cherry-Eucaplytus MiseryI make cheap tea
in a cheap plastic cup,
boil it down into ashes.
Tastes like ashes, tastes like destiny.
I didn't ask for this.
Knees bent into chest
wounded and scream-gasping
because I didn't ask for this.
I lie in bed at night
and play with the edges of the blankets.
I listen for breathing. I hear my own.
I am ashamed.
There's nothing on the floor but dirt,
tracked in on my shoes
but I'm barefoot now
and what are we going to do about that.
There's mud on my feet
and the grass is green-tea sunshine
but I lost my tongue.
Sewed sewage under my skin
and drank poison to wash away the taste
of my tears.
They gave me cough drops for my bronchitis,
and all that's left in me
is cherry-eucalyptus misery.
There's nothing on the floor but me,
cherry-eucaplytus and bent knees,
elbows dug into sewage-sewn ribs.
The kettle clicks off,
and my destiny pools in a two-dollar cup
and I cry ashes instead of tears.
ConsumptionI came downstairs to tell you
that Spring was coming
and found you dining on the sunrise.
All butter and egg yolks and warmth.
I didn't mind, but wished you had saved some
for me. The winter was cold and
A week later, you plucked the sun
from the sky and gouged off the peel,
I had been enjoying the warmth.
I was cold.
You consumed all the light.
You came next for my hair,
for I was blonde even in the dark.
I caught you picking out the sunbeams
and was sad until the dark was too heavy
I didn't fight you when you came for my eyes,
they grew dark and dull, but so was I.
But you couldn't have the stars.
You wanted them, to pop them in your mouth
like candy. But I fought you for them.
The sky and I, you see,
we are dark and cold.
Explorations of the Barely ConsciousSleeplessness is tangled
in my eyelashes.
I climbed a tree last night
to scrape my face against
the sunset, to take
gasps of night into
myself, taste the sleep
I’ll never get
Hung a flashlight from a branch,
who am I to make a star?
I waited for sleep to come
like an alien invasion.
It came for many
but left me behind.
I hold a star in my hands.
If I showed you it'd become a flashlight,
you wouldn’t believe me.
I’ll keep it for myself.
The aliens left me here,
but they gave me the star.
I scraped my cheek
against the sunset
and I burned,
for the night is cold.
Lost in the darkness,
I wait for it to come back,
to take me with them,
to take me home.
I am not just the insomniac
in the tree,
I am their star.
The Hazards of Higher ConsciousnessI've covered the floor with
scrap-paper turned math lesson,
used up half the flip-over paper,
drew the calculus proofs
I memorized along with my name
I made a map of my brain,
found the Brodmann's areas
and colored them so prettily
Tacked it to the wall to say
look there, see it
The math has all those pretty steps,
the map just makes sense.
I put them on the floor for you,
so we can pretend
so do I
HauntedI see her there with
Coal dust carved
Into the icy skin
Under her eyes,
And on her lips
Dance a chorus
Of bitter lies.
A skeletal hand of smoke
Claws at my neck
Until I bleed;
She tells me that the pain
Is just what I need.
And her blood
Zooms in her veins
Like speeding cars.
She looks at me
At what I am.
She’s a snake,
In the guise
Of a lamb.
‘What happened to us?’
Of what I used to be.
‘I may be you,
But you are not me.’
The sun comes up:
Yesterday is gone
But see it this way;
The past is part of the future
But the future isn’t the past.
You choose which bits go,
You choose which bits last.
How to love a poet: Expect them to be flawed,
a field of wild flowered-
& an inability
Love them anyway.
Know that when they look at you
they are noticing the little things.
lost my voice.I wrote "I love you"
in the sand at the beach.
The tide swallowed the words
and drowned them
before I could speak.
I Saw a Burning ManIn front of my house, he sat.
Skin burnt off, now charred and black.
Hesitantly, I walked outside.
And he followed me with his watery eyes.
With steps as nimble as the snow,
I hid my fear and continued to go.
Now before him, the Burning Man.
I kindly offered him my shaky hand.
No malice nor vice leaked off of him,
rather sadness and agony which simmered below his skin.
I could feel it around me, the pain and despair,
yet, physically the man was nearly repaired.
For his scorched skin was not his problem,
instead the bottled emotions that devoured all of him.
“Would you like to come inside sir, and stay?”
In which he replied by looking away.
Again I asked, and received no reply,
and was startled when the man began to cry.
Unsure of what to do, I walked away,
Yet I’ll never forget what happened that day.
Be it from pain, or mute, or undisclosed desires,
I watched as the man was engulfed in fire.
I stood back in awe, with my mouth agape,
and feared that he had fallen into
little victories.when i was younger,
i thought i was the strongest
little girl in the world
because i could easily
beat my older brother
at arm wrestling.
it wasn't until years later
that i realized
And There Was Lighti.
He was seventeen when he died.
I never went to the funeral
but I walked past it the day of
the service. His mother
was in the backseat of a blue Dodge,
door open, head in her hands.
"My baby," she kept repeating.
"My baby." It would go from sobbing, to
screaming, to a soft whisper that
I could only hear being carried
on the wind.
It was a Wednesday afternoon that they found
his old red pickup truck parked
out front of Slim's, two beer bottles in
the back and the windows cracked to let the stale
I heard that his dad told the police he was
gonna take that old truck and fix it up, because
he had promised his son before—
because it's always in the before—
And in the after, his mother never had dry eyes
and I'm pretty sure my mom told me
that she saw his dad at the bar every night,
drinking his sorrows down because some people can't
handle the stress.
Some people can't figure out why their son would
"Some men just want to w
Loving A Guy Who Cannot Love Himself.Firstly, tell him that he doesn't necessarily need to be the “strongest” man in the world,
that if he cries, you won't look down on him for it,
that you won't call him weak.
Tell him that he doesn't have to like sports, or fishing, or football, or any of the “mainstream” things that boys are “supposed” to like.
Let him know that liking art, or dancing, or singing or acting doesn't make him gay, doesn’t make him any less of a man, it just makes him who he is.
A human being.
And for goodness sakes, tell him that blue does not have to be his favorite color, than he can indulge in pink, or purple or even magenta!
And to the girl who take on the task, remember please, that it is not always the Knight who saves the Princess.
No, this time, the Princess may need to save the Knight.
Do not pour your problems onto him, rather, balance each other out.
Be a shoulder to cry on. A friend to be there. A love that never leaves.
Perhaps more than often,
You Ever Felt ItHave you ever felt it?
When you lay there broken
And feel yourself so guilty
Eyes gushing red
And you want to sleep in a coma
Your brain swelling with thoughts
At the same time empty with nothing
When you can't suit yourself
And see yourself a place among the demons
that moment when you control your life
The moment when you choose between life and death
And then you yourself can decide either way
It's when you're on the edge
And want someone to pull you back before you make another step
A hook, to rip all the insanity out of your body
And suck all the madness that is growing black dead trees
Have you ever felt it, have you known depression
Did you ever seek a source of help, and did you ever find it
DualityShe takes her by the elbow
and guides her with bridge-armed
silence, hissing instructions
through rapidly condensing breath.
for if She doesn’t remember her,
who will? who will remember that
she can’t drink milk,
can’t eat that,
shouldn’t do this?
and when she puts Her
to bed at night, She tells her
She tells her terrible things
she takes Her by the hand
and makes Her look in the water.
tells Her to breath,
tells Her to cry.
but She won’t do it,
so she has to cry for Her.
She tells her that they must
work all the time or else what
will happen to Them?
but she’s the one
that cries when They
are all alone.
They stand in front of the mirror
and look at the girl reflected.
and She thinks the girl
She is critical, forgiving
in measured intervals.
but she looks at the girl,
and just tells the girl
but the girl can’t smile,
because They have
of her soul.
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More