Rosy butterflies fly,
excited in the air,
circling me, with sweet intentions.
The day belongs to me and I breathe like I am grateful to be alive,
deep and slow,
angels are sleeping in my soul,
and I call them to awaken,
because there is so much to see.
I put on my perfume,
stalked across the room by the butterflies,
that have become something different,
their brightness lost,
until they are as dark as the days I regret,
but I just brush my hair,
type out a text, that I will never send,
hoping that I haunt the places where my heart resides,
so people remember their responsibility to memory of me.
My nails are black,
my dress too,
my hair too,
but my soul is turquoise,
to the point where it is painful.
The butterflies were never mine to control.
Moving through the rainbow with my mood ring,
collecting in the sky,
staring down and stalking,
talking about what I’ll do next.