Paper Butterflies

There was an echo when

the train came…

and the earth stood still to listen to

their names…

and below the risen seats of pharaohs,

my heart broke in their shadows,

as bells of victory and triumph for them

rang.

*

Maybe I

just missed the doorway,

as callings for our souls were being

made;

maybe I

was somewhere far away and dreaming -

never seeing how

(I maybe)

was not free enough this time,

to stay.

*

Paper butterflies don’t fly,

(but maybe)

they’ll still remind you

of the spring,

and as I

decorate your kitchen…

maybe you’ll still

listen to me as I sing.

*

I waited while

they read me;

and like mosaic tiles,

they hung up all my PIECES to be seen;

only to never truly see me

for what I

<collectively>

could have been if only I’d

been sewn together with their seams.

*

And maybe my

words weren’t nearly deep enough,

(like oceans)

that roar with mystery, divine;

and maybe my

liberty of syntax wasn’t steep enough;

maybe I blurred my

“love at first sight” storyline.

And there was always maybe…

but as I wrote I thought that maybe I

had frozen for them that first moment

when baby I first saw your

lovely outline (for the first time)

in the sky.

*

Paper butterflies don’t fly,

(but maybe)

they’ll still make you

look outside,

and as my

painted colors fade into the sunlight…

maybe you’ll still

remember me tonight.

*

I wondered how

I lost them

in a dipping sea of love, sweet love,

(through words);

I was so sure

I was so certain I had captured

“happily ever after”

and the glow of life, transferred…

between two beings that after all that time

had come together,

(for forever)

in paradigms, reheard.

*

And maybe my

direction was too hallow,

maybe I *followed* their

instruction all too closely, to a "T",

maybe what they really wanted

was a single stone thrown and

deviated

from the path I wandered happily.

But I was thinking, maybe:

sometimes simplicity...

can be key to finding

ridiculously beautiful

rhythmic eternity,

and as I wandered I did stumble...

on serendipity,

and I thought that I'd discovered

unfiltered liberty.

*

And paper butterflies don’t fly,

(but maybe)

they’ll still make you

in my direction, sway;

and as my

paper wings look lovely by your window sill,

maybe you’ll still

keep me around to stay.

*

I contemplated changing

and rearranging all my

words to sound like theirs;

I thought maybe I wasn’t

well-versed enough to be

truly noticed by their glares.

But as I crumbled all my treasures…

like dust and feathers,

my pieces floated in the air -

and like a lotus, bloomed before me

and before I knew it,

I was right back to where…

I’d started,

I was there.

*

And maybe I am meant to be

a paper butterfly

that brightens up your room;

maybe I’ll be free one day

but for now I’ll sleep in my cocoon.

And I can be a "happily ever after",

(having blossomed from disaster)

leaving a piece of me behind

that lingers...like perfume.

*

And paper butterflies don’t fly

(but maybe)

they’ll still catch the glitter

(in your eyes),

and as my

paper wings reflect the daylight

maybe you will know

I’m somehow free inside,

tonight.

*

-Gina C.🧚‍♀️✨

***

Author's Note: I wrote this poem after having poured my heart and soul into something and then receiving a less-than-desired outcome. If you read closely enough, you can probably figure out what I'm talking about. :)

I always do my best to be an optimist in life, and after the initial heartache, I was able to break the hold of darkness and become free again.

I'm not sure at what point I started doing it, but I very much enjoy ending my poems on high, uplifting notes. 💫

***

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