The butterflies couldn’t seem to go away,
anytime during the day.
As I’m lying awake so many nights,
trying to recognize the passion,
my wishes hide in my open mind.
Their gentle wings keep them afloat
in my constant overflowing emotions;
washing my worries away in a sea of aspiration.
The painful sting of waiting.
The irresistible burn of wanting something you have,
that some how still seems out of
reach.
And the uncomfortable ache of my
vulnerable heart
let loose to a firing range.
But the overwhelming reminder from my butterflies;
they always seem to be a good sign.
Their wings push and pull on my breath
until it feels as if I can’t
breathe at all.
The air seemingly stomped from my chest
like the match,
thought to have been smothered from existence,
but not before its spark
lit ablaze in the depths of my
heart.
My some how effortless desire,
playing me like a fiddle,
and the endless sight of complication;
forming countless paths in
our maze.
Their natural beauty beyond belief.
Their pure, innocent, representation of
the most longed for, feared emotion, sometimes known as
love.
The fire.
The flame.
It is all the same.
My prayer for a simple attraction.
So listen to the cry of my butterflies;
the lullaby rocking me to sleep at night.
The quiet but fierce whisper from my butterflies
reminding you they’re still
here.
The Ann Richards School for Young Women Leaders
7