Butterflies Rising Love Quotes

The regular choreography, entrances and exits of blooms in stages such that the garden looked like an ever-evolving carousel of swirling rainbows and radiant butterflies, seemed condensed. All of the flowers still obeyed some silent urgent command to make their debut. But this year, it definitely unfolded more quickly, as if racing to meet a new compelling deadline.

The moth prefers the moon and detests the sun, while the butterfly loves the sun and hides from the moon. Every living creature responds to light. But depending on the amount of light you have inside, determines which lamp in the sky your heart will swoon.

Somewhere someone thinks they love someone else exactly like I love you. Somewhere someone shakes from the ripple of a thousand butterflies inside a single stomach. Somewhere someone is packing their bags to see the world with someone else. Somewhere someone is reaching through the most terrifying few feet of space to hold the hand of someone else. Somewhere someone is watching someone else’s chest rise and fall with the breath of slumber. Somewhere someone is pouring ink like blood onto pages fighting to say the truth that has no words. Somewhere someone is waiting patient but exhausted to just be with someone else. Somewhere someone is opening their eyes to a sunrise in someplace they have never seen. Somewhere someone is pulling out the petals twisting the apple stem picking up the heads up penny rubbing the rabbits foot knocking on wood throwing coins into fountains hunting for the only clover with only 4 leaves skipping over the cracks snapping the wishbone crossing their fingers blowing out the candles sending dandelion seeds into the air ushering eyelashes off their thumbs finding the first star and waiting for 11:11 on their clock to spend their wishes on someone else. Somewhere someone is saying goodbye but somewhere someone else is saying hello. Somewhere someone is sharing their first or their last kiss with their or no longer their someone else. Somewhere someone is wondering if how they feel is how the other they feels about them and if both theys could ever become a they together. Somewhere someone is the decoder ring to all of the great mysteries of life for someone else. Somewhere someone is the treasure map. Somewhere someone thinks they love someone else exactly like I love you. Somewhere someone is wrong.

The dead never truly die. They simply change form.

Give me the purple smoke, rising higher and higher into my brain until I dance with the purple butterflies.” -Girl with the violet eyes.

now that i know you exist, how do i not love you

THE MOTH AND THE BUTTERFLY When the sun rises over the horizon, the butterfly emerges to dance in its brilliant light. It flickers its colorful wings with euphoria, To celebrate all the beauty found in the majestic garden of life. When the moon arrives in the darkness, The moth appears at the disappearance of sunlight. It flickers its pale wings as it shakes from its deep slumber, To go search for food To carry it through the night. The moth prefers the moon and detests the sun, while the butterfly loves the sun and hides from the moon. Every living creature responds to light, But depending on the amount of light you have inside, Determines which lamp in the sky Your heart will swoon. Poetry by Suzy Kassem

i know that will never, ever be able to love myself if i keep apologizing for how other people have decided to feel about me.

you walk in, and my heart beats different

Let Us Gather In A Flourishing Way Let us gather in a flourishing way opening with sun light grains songs we carry every day I pasture the young body happy to give and give pearls pearls of corn flowing tree of life at the four corners let us gather in a flourishing way happy life full of strength to giving birth to fragrant rivers Fresh sweet green turquoise strong rainbows flesh of our children let us gather in a flourishing way in the light and in the flesh of our heart to toil quiet in fields of blossoms together to stretch the arms With the quiet rain in the morning Early on our forehead star Heat sky and wisdom to meet us Where we toil always in the garden of our Struggle and joy let us offer our hearts to greet our eagle rising freedom woven branches celebrate arms branches nopales stones feathers bursting piercing figs and avocados Butterfly ripe fields and clear seas of our face to breathe all the way in blessing to give seeds to grow maiztlán in the hands of our love.

be a love firefly

there's this feeling when you look at me… i think maybe it’s love… how you actually give a damn about all the mess inside my head.

the universe gave me a relentlessly loyal heart, i could love through lifetimes

i love that way you smile like wild defiance… i wanna bottle it up and use it to fight off all my fears

love me… and tell me how free my lungs will always breathe when i love you.

i know that i will never, ever be able to love myself if i keep apologizing for how other people have decided to feel about me.

...come a little closer and show me love-colored things

my soul just wants to be closer to yours – butterflies rising

my soul just wants to be closer to yours

when i love, it’s the littlest things about someone that can make a complete mess of me… details, i love madly in details.

those lips so full of lush and love… and talking of so much life

love shouldn't feel like a choice between being loved or loving yourself… it should be where both things collide.⁣

everything is more beautiful when i'm in love… but i feel so much stronger when i'm not.

give me love that takes me wayward, off beaten paths and down country roads, let’s stargaze, we’re made for so much more than plans and picket fences

he gave me every reason not to believe in love… yet here i am after everything, so beautifully certain it exists

we love like fireflies, how we gravitate to each other’s glow

my heart, oh how wild it loves

you are allowed to be lovely and important, to speak up, and out, and convicted from the same mouth that tends to love and cradles lilies it’s stunning when you let why you’re here spill out of you

i want to learn to look at myself in the same way that i look at things i love, to feel the way i feel when i think something is beautiful… to look at myself and see something that i love and think is beautiful.

never be ashamed of how deeply and passionately you loved someone who destroyed you, because destroying things is just who they are… but loving things deeply and passionately is who you are – butterflies rising

you want to love again… but first, you have to put to rest the unrest that you felt with the hands you held before. you gave that half-love your full attention for so long, and now your heart needs to take some space to breathe… new love needs fresh air.

Now that the day is almost done, the world of glass recedes, the butterfly threat diminishes. I imagine that we're both here in this bed, that my invisible body is nestled against hers. We are breathing at the same pace, our chests rising and falling in unison. We have no need to whisper, because at this distance, all we need is thought. Our eyes close at the same time. We feel the same sheets against us, the same night. Our breath slows together. We split into different versions of the same dreams. Sleep takes us at the exact same time.

i don’t know why it is, but… you feel like home, and everywhere i’ve never been, all at once. it doesn’t make sense… or maybe it does? maybe love is the safest place you could ever be, and every new and undiscovered place you have yet to go, all at the same time. yeah… i think that’s perfectly how it’s supposed to feel.

The first butterfly sees the smoke from a flame rising in the distance and declares, “I know about love.” This butterfly is in the station of islam, because she uses her rational intellect to outwardly deduce from the smoke that she sees the presence of light. This realm of knowing is known as ilm al-yaqin, or the “knowledge of certainty.” The second butterfly actually sees the light and feels the heat from the flame and declares, “I know how love’s fire can burn.” This butterfly is in a station of iman, because she not only intellectually believes in the presence of light but she has directly experienced the flame. This realm of knowing is known as ayn al-yaqin, or the “eye of certainty.” The third butterfly flies directly into the flame, dissolving itself within the light. This butterfly is consumed by love and so she has no words to offer. It is in the station of ihsan, because she has disappeared and become entirely embraced by the light of what she loved. This realm of knowing is known as haqq al-yaqin, or the “truth of certainty.

She is fragile as the morning dew melting in the warmth of a child's smile; stirring at the lonely, lovely waft of a butterfly's wings; tender as the curve of a wildflower petal. She is fierce as a summer storm now raging against the fiery sky; now raining tears to soothe the sun-scorched earth. She is soft as a midnight breeze swaying to the sound of waves breaking on distant shores; whispering comfort to a world steeped in the dark night of inhumanity. She is brilliant as the rising Phoenix lifting the suffering from the ashes; her own suffering woven into wings of fire in the long watches of the night. She is serene and turbulent as the silvered water hiding currents unknown beneath the gentle gaze of a human who has walked a thousand miles and still has more to go.

Ode to the Beloved’s Hips" Bells are they—shaped on the eighth day—silvered percussion in the morning—are the morning. Swing switch sway. Hold the day away a little longer, a little slower, a little easy. Call to me— I wanna rock, I-I wanna rock, I-I wanna rock right now—so to them I come—struck-dumb chime-blind, tolling with a throat full of Hosanna. How many hours bowed against this Infinity of Blessed Trinity? Communion of Pelvis, Sacrum, Femur. My mouth—terrible angel, ever-lasting novena, ecstatic devourer. O, the places I have laid them, knelt and scooped the amber—fast honey—from their openness— Ah Muzen Cab’s hidden Temple of Tulúm—licked smooth the sticky of her hip—heat-thrummed ossa coxae. Lambent slave to ilium and ischium—I never tire to shake this wild hive, split with thumb the sweet- dripped comb—hot hexagonal hole—dark diamond— to its nectar-dervished queen. Meanad tongue— come-drunk hum-tranced honey-puller—for her hips, I am—strummed-song and succubus. They are the sign: hip. And the cosign: a great book— the body’s Bible opened up to its Good News Gospel. Alleluias, Ave Marías, madre mías, ay yay yays, Ay Dios míos, and hip-hip-hooray. Cult of Coccyx. Culto de cadera. Oracle of Orgasm. Rorschach’s riddle: What do I see? Hips: Innominate bone. Wish bone. Orpheus bone. Transubstantiation bone—hips of bread, wine-whet thighs. Say the word and healed I shall be: Bone butterfly. Bone wings. Bone Ferris wheel. Bone basin bone throne bone lamp. Apparition in the bone grotto—6th mystery— slick rosary bead—Déme la gracia of a decade in this garden of carmine flower. Exile me to the enormous orchard of Alcinous—spiced fruit, laden-tree—Imparadise me. Because, God, I am guilty. I am sin-frenzied and full of teeth for pear upon apple upon fig. More than all that are your hips. They are a city. They are Kingdom— Troy, the hollowed horse, an army of desire— thirty soldiers in the belly, two in the mouth. Beloved, your hips are the war. At night your legs, love, are boulevards leading me beggared and hungry to your candy house, your baroque mansion. Even when I am late and the tables have been cleared, in the kitchen of your hips, let me eat cake. O, constellation of pelvic glide—every curve, a luster, a star. More infinite still, your hips are kosmic, are universe—galactic carousel of burning comets and Big Big Bangs. Millennium Falcon, let me be your Solo. O, hot planet, let me circumambulate. O, spiral galaxy, I am coming for your dark matter. Along las calles de tus muslos I wander— follow the parade of pulse like a drum line— descend into your Plaza del Toros— hands throbbing Miura bulls, dark Isleros. Your arched hips—ay, mi torera. Down the long corridor, your wet walls lead me like a traje de luces—all glitter, glowed. I am the animal born to rush your rich red muletas—each breath, each sigh, each groan, a hooked horn of want. My mouth at your inner thigh—here I must enter you—mi pobre Manolete—press and part you like a wound— make the crowd pounding in the grandstand of your iliac crest rise up in you and cheer.

am i safe here, am i seen here, can i breathe here, do i bloom here, can i grow here, can i glow here, do i feel free here, does my pulse stir and my heart beat here, can i trust this, is there truth here, is it beautiful here… do i feel beautiful here, and not just do i feel loved here… but do i get to love me here. out of all the questions i have with someone… i think the ones that ask, “what does it feel like here?” are my most important ones.

In seconds, the room flooded with wide-eyed girls wanting to meet the artist of the butterfly stories. Stories about healing and redemption. Love and friendship. Stories about shifting shadows and an armory full of color to drive the darkness away. "Emerald Dawn rises early before her sisters wake. With her smile, she charms the sun and chases clouds away. Diamonds hide among the silvery dew. Rubies shimmer in the roses. And she tiptoes through the castle garden to find their hiding spaces.

Now let me tell you something. I have seen a thousand sunsets and sunrises, on land where it floods forest and mountains with honey coloured light, at sea where it rises and sets like a blood orange in a multicoloured nest of cloud, slipping in and out of the vast ocean. I have seen a thousand moons: harvest moons like gold coins, winter moons as white as ice chips, new moons like baby swans’ feathers. I have seen seas as smooth as if painted, coloured like shot silk or blue as a kingfisher or transparent as glass or black and crumpled with foam, moving ponderously and murderously. I have felt winds straight from the South Pole, bleak and wailing like a lost child; winds as tender and warm as a lover’s breath; winds that carried the astringent smell of salt and the death of seaweeds; winds that carried the moist rich smell of a forest floor, the smell of a million flowers. Fierce winds that churned and moved the sea like yeast, or winds that made the waters lap at the shore like a kitten. I have known silence: the cold, earthy silence at the bottom of a newly dug well; the implacable stony silence of a deep cave; the hot, drugged midday silence when everything is hypnotised and stilled into silence by the eye of the sun; the silence when great music ends. I have heard summer cicadas cry so that the sound seems stitched into your bones. I have heard tree frogs in an orchestration as complicated as Bach singing in a forest lit by a million emerald fireflies. I have heard the Keas calling over grey glaciers that groaned to themselves like old people as they inched their way to the sea. I have heard the hoarse street vendor cries of the mating Fur seals as they sang to their sleek golden wives, the crisp staccato admonishment of the Rattlesnake, the cobweb squeak of the Bat and the belling roar of the Red deer knee-deep in purple heather. I have heard Wolves baying at a winter’s moon, Red howlers making the forest vibrate with their roaring cries. I have heard the squeak, purr and grunt of a hundred multi-coloured reef fishes. I have seen hummingbirds flashing like opals round a tree of scarlet blooms, humming like a top. I have seen flying fish, skittering like quicksilver across the blue waves, drawing silver lines on the surface with their tails. I have seen Spoonbills flying home to roost like a scarlet banner across the sky. I have seen Whales, black as tar, cushioned on a cornflower blue sea, creating a Versailles of fountain with their breath. I have watched butterflies emerge and sit, trembling, while the sun irons their wings smooth. I have watched Tigers, like flames, mating in the long grass. I have been dive-bombed by an angry Raven, black and glossy as the Devil’s hoof. I have lain in water warm as milk, soft as silk, while around me played a host of Dolphins. I have met a thousand animals and seen a thousand wonderful things. But— All this I did without you. This was my loss. All this I want to do with you. This will be my gain. All this I would gladly have forgone for the sake of one minute of your company, for your laugh, your voice, your eyes, hair, lips, body, and above all for your sweet, ever-surprising mind which is an enchanting quarry in which it is my privilege to delve.

the sweet and wild rebellion in you… the poetry in those eyes… those dreamer's eyes learning to see in the dark. and all that beautiful madness tangled in your hair. toes dangling over the edge, testing a new universe. it's ok to take small steps and deep breaths, love… but also, let yourself start to take up your space. and don't you dare say you're sorry when you do. and you'll be rejected for these wings, these fires, for this sweet and wild rebellion in you. but these are such. beautiful. things. so keep choosing you… because nothing will matter if you reject you. if it needs you small, don't let it hold you anymore. don't let anything that needs you ordinary tame you ever again.

that moment right before something wild and beautiful is about to happen… it's why that girl loves a drop… you get pulled into that moment that holds your breath, and then the music takes over like the whole world is high on soul-driven adrenaline / and in that feeling right before a kiss… there's that universe that only the two of you exist in, and then the kiss takes over your whole body like some kind of love-flavored mescaline / it's the let-go before the give-in / the suspension before the collision / when we hand our head over to our heart and let something made of magic find its way in …she likes the way that feels… that moment right before something wild and beautiful is about to happen.

he said, what do you want? i said… you. he said, no. i want to know what you want… for you. i want… to search. and stretch. and grow. and glow. and drip myself in wild creativity, and burn and breathe at once in this skin. in these lungs. wings untethered, under the moon, into the sky, and to dream big and bigger and biggest, and to feel free in here… inside my anxious chest. to just. feel. free. and to have the universe say… yes, you are worthy of all this. and yes… you. …the way you give me butterflies and adrenaline highs, and who you are, and how you are, and how you think and speak and feel and exist and move, and there’s this feeling when you look at me… i think this is maybe love… how you actually give a damn about all this mess inside my head.

bombs poured down from the sky exploding across trachimbrod in bursts of light and heat those watching the festivities hollered ran frantically they jumped into the bubbling splashing frantically dynamic water not after the sack of gold buy to save themselves they stayed under as long as they could they surfaced to seize air and look for loved ones my safran picked up his wife and carried her like a newlywed into the water which seemed amid the falling trees and hackling crackling explosions the safest place hundreds of bodies poured into the brod that river with my name I embraced them with open arms come to me come I wanted to save them all to save everybody from everybody the bombs rained from the sky and it was not the explosions or scattering shrapnel that would be our death not the heckling cinders not the laughing debris but all of the bodies bodies flailing and grabbing hold of one another bodies looking something to hold on to my safran lost sight of his wife who was carried deeper into me by the pull of the bodies the silent shrieks were carried in bubbles to the surface where they popped PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE the kicking in zosha’s belly became more and more PLEASE PLEASE the baby refused to die like this PLEASE the bombs came down cackling smoldering and my safran was able to break free from the human mass and float downstream over the small falls to clearer waters zosha was pulled down PLEASE and the baby refusing to die like this was pulled up and out of her body turning the waters around her red she surfaced like a bubble to the light to oxygen to life to life WAWAWAWAWAWA she cried she was perfectly healthy and she would have lived except for the umbilical cord that pulled her back under toward her mother who was barely conscious but conscious of the cord and tried to break it with her hands and then bite it with her teeth but could not it would not be broken and she died with her perfectly healthy nameless baby in her arms she held it to her chest the crowd pulled itself into itself long after the bombing ceased the confused the frightened the desperate mass of babies children teenagers adults elderly all pulled at each other to survive but pulled each other into me drowning each other killing each other the bodies began to rise one at a time until I couldn’t be seen through all of the bodies blue skin open white eyes I was invisible under them I was the carcass they were the butterflies white eyes blue skin this is what we’ve done we’ve killed our own babies to save them

In My Prayer. My silent niche. You incarnate in my prayer. Dawn is all dancing like a rainbow in your smile. Anxious to uncover dreams after morning. The desire to arrange sparkly beads in your hair. Reduce heartbeat, please at the tips of your fingers. I will pray together with night just to keep remembering you. A never ending memory to always say your name. Silence that leads to longing for the rising of light. Horizon knocked on all the gates, which grabbed a reprehensible body, who hesitated to stop at the tip of the tongue. Lips murmuring, stringing questions hung at the end of time. The self that is always broken and dishonest, who is kufr and who is infidel. All beings submit to the most holy feet. Let silence accept everything that is magical. Although the reflection of the moon's face is filled with wounds with lies in our mouths, betrayed by lust and unstoppable desires. May you soon incarnate so that a million flowers bloom in the heart of the most cursory. The eyes are altered, betraying a million flashes of light from the darkest night. The most beautiful gems are buried in mud puddles. Even though the sky is still dark. Heavy rain that is redder than all blood. Which surpassed the fangs of the old snake. The endless cycle of the sun throws puzzles about the mysteries of the universe that are never answered. The beginning of all this sorrow in myself. If only you please, transform into a butterfly in my prayer tonight. A pair of wings that burned like a fire of longing in my heart. Who suddenly fidgeted and flew into your eyes. Then descend on the branch of the Khuldi tree, before breaking into my tears. Suppose tonight, in my prayer, you incarnate like a thunderous storm. Like the sound of noisy thunder. The footsteps stepped hurriedly on the foggy road. Infiltrate the gaps of our thoughts and feelings. Shackle our arms, knees and breath. If only, in my prayer tonight you will be transformed into murky tears. Who trembled, even though it would patiently take care of my sadness. The pain that somehow healed my soul. Beliefs that keep mysteries for my deepest secrets, which you endlessly hum, in order to be a comfort for my sad life. My dear. Lady of my heart. My love. My soul. Bless me with all your generosity. With your mercy, with your endless love. With your infinite anger.

Advice to Myself from Chelsea to Chelsea Be reckless when it matters most. Messy incomplete. Belly laugh. Love language. Be butterfly stroke in a pool of freestylers. Fast & loose. You don’t need all the right moves all the time. You just need limbs wild. Be equator. Lava. Ocean floor, the neon of plankton. Be unexpected. The rope they lower to save the other bodies. Be your whole body. Every hiccup & out of place. Elastic girl. Be stretch moldable. Be funk flexible. Free fashionable. Go on. Be hair natural. Try & do anything, woman. What brave acts like on your hips. Be cocky at school. Have a fresh mouth. Don’t let them tell you what’s prim & proper. Not your ladylike. Don’t be their ladylike. Their dress-up girl. Not their pretty. Don’t be their bottled. Saturated. Dyed. Squeezed. SPANXed. Be gilded. Gold. Papyrus. A parakeet’s balk & flaunt. Show up uninvited. Know what naked feels like. Get the sweetness. Be the woman you love. Be tight rope & expanse. Stay hungry. Be a mouth that needs to get fed. Ask for it. Stay alert—lively—alive & unfettered. Full on it all. Say yes when it matters. Be dragonfish. Set all the fires. Be all the woman they warned you against being. Be her anyway.

you. …the way you give me butterflies and adrenaline highs, and who you are, and how you are, and how you think and speak and feel and exist and move, and there’s this feeling when you look at me… i think this is maybe love… how you actually give a damn about all this mess inside my head.

we can fall into others with so much intensity and gravity, but then, when it comes to ourselves, we can struggle just to find a simple acceptance. but what if self-love is so much more than just a tolerance of yourself. and what if the things that feel like they are just leaving you on your own are not, but they are asking you to learn to choose yourself… and to do it with the same kind of fierce and reckless passion that you have chosen others. and what if that's what this part of your journey is for.

but if it’s love, when it asks you to come along, it will not ask you to leave yourself behind… love won’t ask you to be less. of. yourself. it will invite you to become more and more of you, to step into all of you.

dream your wild dreams, love, and chase your racing heartbeats, find it and feed it and play in your own fire... and she'll find you. she'll meet you where moonlight meets soul light and everything you both ache for collides, because her fire is drawn to your fire.

the way he loved her untamed, with breathing room and growing space. letting her have wings and fires burning… how he’d just watch the light play with the glow in her skin. – butterflies rising

what you go to just because you're lonely isn't love. but what you're drawn to when you catch fire… that's where you'll find love.

love like a timelapse of stars

sometimes we love in fingertip touch… and it’s just as close as we can get

love like breathing… i think love is breath… you breathe in, and come close, and feel this, and feel me, and feel it all, and it takes you all in… so you breathe out, and step back, and feel you, and feel it all, and take yourself in… until you breathe in again i think there has to be that breathing, there have to be those exhales… that space to take in new air and to breathe back into yourself i just think there’s breathing, i think love should feel like breathing – butterflies rising

i love in energy

keep your way of being love, keep this glow, others will come to you just to feel this

there is too much good in you for you to not let goodness be who and what you are… and there is too. much. beautiful in you for you to not let beautiful be who and what you are… and there is too much fire and passion and magic and art and love in you for you to not let it all be who and what you are.

i love in heartbeats, slow and sweet, so sweet, and hard, and reckless, and racing, and so close, maybe too close… so then running, and reaching, and aching, but in heartbeats, everything, all of it, in heartbeats

i love all those little pretty, dirty edges where you play... so beautiful and wild all at once.

i love like flowers and fire… i don't know any other way. soft and vulnerable, and wild and burning… with my heart broken. wide. open.

self-love… the most delicate intimacy

artists and lovers... maybe, you'll lose a little sleep and the sanity will waver… but you'll trade it for the dreams. for the bleeding of the colors and the escape from time. and maybe the peace will take turns with the chaos, but this love will touch. taste. feel. like fire… and your soul will stir and your heart will race and the art will breathe and the awakenings will come again and again. and just. the existence of them… who they are… how they are… it will create all those hurricanes that you feel in your chest walls. and that's how you'll know. because if they are for you… you'll feel it in your chest walls.

we are not halves of each other, we come here to love the whole of one another

let me see your chest bleed and your heart ache with all that you are and for everything you love… show me all your wildfires, i want to know your wildfires

the kind of love that shifts you. and stirs you. and awakens you. and inspires you. and blooms wild and burns bright inside of you… and for you… and through you. a visceral thing that you touch and taste and feel in your senses, in your being, in your soul… in your everything. a knowing. beyond what you understand in your head, a knowing that you feel in your heart… one that you feel in your chest walls.

maybe we could just lay here and i could just kiss your skin, until you feel this light, until beautiful settles easy on you, until all that love in you feels like home

one of the sweetest ways to love… i’ll let you grow

from over here, love looks so sweet. but… so. terrifying. because i don’t yet know how. how to be so close to someone and not crumble into a wild mess of love where i lose me. the last time i got close… my god, how i lost me. so much that i could barely feel me. or hear me. and it’s the deepest ache i’ve ever known when i can’t feel me. so i’m still learning… how not to dim and quiet and run and hide and tame me. how to hold my own fire even when my heart catches fire. how to hold on so tight to my own depths that even when i’m tangled deep in you… i’m still always mine.

we crave a soul-stirring love and we chase that soul-stirring life

you’ve been chasing down the kind of love that greets you with nothing more than a shoulder shrug… the kind that whimpers your name in apathy, don’t you know that you deserve a love that holds so much abundance, one that shouts to the heavens in your honor queen / king – butterflies rising

love like a wild rebellion

fire and wild and art and love and sugar and soul.

passion. and vulnerability. fire and wild and art and love and sugar and soul. a pull towards the stars; an ache to be more free… to feel. so. alive. with a need to feel things deeper and sweeter and closer, and a heart that changes shape when something moves you. it’s all so beautiful. so let go of the ways this world says you’re supposed to be and feel all of the ways that your soul is.

it's so delicate here. but it's where i'm the most brutal. it's where my raging gets careless, and the delicate things end up crushed. i fight my hardest fights trying to love the deepest love, but i've never been more unkind than i've been in these close quarters …in this head, and to this heart. and when others have been unkind, how quick i've been to betray myself and just agree. and i've let it all hurt so much that unworthy has felt like the only feeling i may ever again know… like a flower whose every last petal has been torn away and thrown to the wind with nothing left to recognize as beautiful. just wilted. and bare with pain. but what if it hurts this way for a reason… because that ache in me is the fight in me to learn to feel different. because somewhere deep inside i know that i want to be delicate here… desperately. and when they're unkind, and when i'm unkind, somewhere deep down, i know that i fiercely. disagree. and there's a wild blossom in me and it's too beautiful to ever just be torn away and thrown to the wind. and there's a tenderness that i'm made of and an intimacy that i'm part of… one that i'm going to learn to take such delicate care of.

there are others like us out there… aching dreamers like you and me, who've been told it's too much… we've been wrecked in our spirit. but what if we could still believe in things. beautiful things, untouchable things; even the ones they told us not to. what if we just chase them anyways. i think we could touch them… because i've got all this wildflower energy, and i see your wildfires when you look at me, and i love that way you smile like wild defiance… i wanna bottle it up and use it to fight off all my fears. so let's leave doubt where it came from, and let's run free under starlight, and let's believe. so. much. that we just can't be told different. and then maybe… we could show the others that there is still so much for them to believe in too.

If i could help every woman feel beautiful, and teach every little girl how to love herself, that would be my superpower.

love won’t ask you to be less of yourself, it will invite you to become more and more of you, to step into all of you

poetry is my scripture, music is my gospel, empathy and kindness are my witness, creativity and love are my worship

he wanted me to feel jealousy towards her, but i didn't, i just felt compassion for her… i too had once known the devastating lack of self-love required to be with him

could you love her, still… when she's not only soft in your arms but when she's wild with the moon and restless… and maybe just a little out of reach from your fingertips. could you love her, still, when she's not only sweet and resting easy on your chest, but when she's wild blossomed in the night and searching for more inside of herself than who you may think she is. could you love her not just when she's flowers but when she's fire. she has to know… if she lets you close… when she blooms wild and burns bright… could you love her, still.

we burn, we run, we love.

love will always outnumber, overshadow and overcome.

there are things he holds close, in the awake, in the lucid, things he feels, but he fears how they might fall out so helpless, so unarmed, so defenseless… and god, how those walls can make me question. but then he dreams with an open chest, and he tells me of what he’s sure of, and that i can let my head rest, ‘cause this isn’t a small love, and that most times it feels like too much love, and so sometimes… he’s just afraid. so my fears… they just fall quiet with the way he speaks to me in his sleep. he may have a hardened chest in the wake light, but there are flowers in the moonlight, and when his fears fall quiet… there are all these things he feels when his defenses are down.

love languages… blood + fire… the wild. the passionate. the visceral things that burn in your veins, that bite at your senses, that give you a pulse sugar + flowers… the sweet. the soft. the vulnerable things that tender the walls and break your heart open love + soul… the deep. the true. the heart. the lungs. the breathing. the wings. the free… the things you ache for… and the ones that ache back magic + stars… the infinite. the destined. the things you feel beyond words, beyond bodies, beyond… before… after… always.

i’m just too in love with love for anything less than that heart racing, soul craving, lose my breath, and feel my infinity in the beating of your chest kind of love

i promise, once you learn to love who you are, it won’t hurt anymore… all of this pain from the one who didn’t love you. you will love you, so it just won’t matter anymore.

that sure kind of love… where jealousy has no resting place, and doubt has no home

it’s just how i love. i feel things as brutally intimate as they can be felt.

save yourself for people who always treat you in such a way that lets you love yourself

…that late night drive, make me a mixtape, talk till 3am and stay up too late, kind of love.

he started to come closer, and i said… don’t. just stay. me here. you there. he said… so you don’t want to know me. i said… no, i do. let me know you. me here. you there. not because i don’t want to know you, but, so i can know you as you are. so beautifully untouched by anything you think you need to make yourself to be for me. please. just be. let me love you as you are.

—V. V. Ganeshananthan, author of Love Marriage “Compulsive reading. A deliciously timely, whip-smart buoyant dissection of men and women on the rise and the dynamics at play.” —Irenosen Okojie, author of Butterfly Fish “Beneath its high-octane, hi-tech surface, The Startup Wife is a funny, poignant, and supersmart story of ambition, independence, and love—a brilliant portrait of the times we live in.” —Tash Aw, author of Five Star Billionaire “Brilliant… A modern novel about love, startups, technology, ambition, and the future, all wrapped up in one. It’s very clever, but also subtle and very funny too.” —Emma Gannon, author of Olive

when i get close, and when i let walls fall… i become a wild mess. and i get fully disarmed. i just wildflower open… soft. vulnerable. and i become such an easy mark for the way that forever is such a pretty word off the corner of your smile… and god, how it feels like the sweetest. thing. and i swear it… that stars shine brighter, and skin feels even softer, and songs sink in a little deeper, and the words are the sweetest. sugar. and they mean ten times, a hundred times, all the times more… and i feel it all like lightning and soul-imprint in my marrow. and it's beautiful. and it's terrifying. because my safe space… is in the wild open, where there's growing space and soul-searching space, and where my fire is bright and my wings are wide and my breathing is all its own and i can always feel the way my heart beats on its own… with me over here. and you over there. and i don't know if my heart will ever settle it… the way everything is more beautiful when i'm in love, but i feel so much stronger when i'm not.

from over here, love looks so sweet. but… so. terrifying. because i don't yet know how. how to be so close to someone and not crumble into a wild mess of love where i lose me. the last time i got close… my god, how i lost me. so much that i could barely feel me. or hear me. and it's the deepest ache i've ever known when i can't feel me. so i'm still learning… how not to dim and quiet and run and hide and tame me. how to hold my own fire even when my heart catches fire. how to hold on so tight to my own depths that even when i'm tangled deep in you… i'm still always mine.

and you ask… how will i know it's him when he comes along? i'll know it's him by the way he walks in wearing respect like a nice suit, and holding that take. it. slow. magic. with his self-love, self-required, just radiating liberation from old men’s tales, and because… before he lets me love him, it will matter that i love myself.

that moment right before something wild and beautiful is about to happen… it's why that girl loves a drop… you get pulled into that moment that holds your breath, and then the music takes you over like you’re high on soul-driven adrenaline / and that feeling right before a kiss… there's that universe that only the two of you exist in… and then the kiss takes over your whole body like some kind of love-flavored mescaline / it's the let-go before the give-in / the suspension before the collision / when we hand our head over to our heart and let something made of magic find its way in …she likes the way that feels… that moment right before something wild and beautiful is about to happen.

i think you have to chase it. that thing that tells you... keep. going. that there are wilder sunsets and more colors to know. that there are still answers for what's pulling at you. that the emptiness and heartbreak aren't where love will leave you because somewhere there is a lover who will kiss you like you have poetry and addiction on your lips and who needs your touch and taste like mercy on their soul. and there are all those virgin, unfelt things in you; still untouched and tender and unfolding. so you have to keep searching. for all that soul stuff. until your intangible aches are in the flesh, and that fire within you is spilling all around you... i think you have to keep going.

now that i know you exist… how do i not love you. how do i not follow this gravity towards you. now that i feel this, how could i ever not. feel. this. i don't know how i could ever be here in this life and not. love you. i just have no choice. but then… you made a choice. and now i have no choice. and i don't know how… how will i be here in this world with you somewhere else in this world. how. will i learn to pull myself out of this gravity and not feel this anymore now that i have felt. this. how… now that i know you exist… how do i not love you.

this love story has been a slow fall. and these wings have been a slow unfold. and there has been a fight here for my worth, and it sure has been a hard-fought one, and this road home has been a long one… but there’s a little bit of light here now. and even though it’s been a long time coming… the light is coming. and as uncertain as i am of how much farther i have to go, i know now that i’ve got it in me to keep going. and until i feel free… i know now that this heart won’t give up.

She Lies Within Me! Her thoughts rapture like seed pods bursting at the command of some unknown will, And the seeds of her memories every corner of my life fill, With hopes, memories, desires that all germinate as a single feeling, Minds creation, her beautiful memories, are for heart a complicated dealing, And as feelings arise from the seeds of her memories, The landscape of my life is cast into never ending sanctuaries, Of her beautiful and ceaseless memories, Where my mind wanders aimlessly and my heart remains marooned within its boundaries, The walls are virtual but the mental fascination is ubiquitous and anchored in reality , Where I submit myself before her beauty in my absolute piety, And as I serenade for her in the sanctuary of her memories, A million seeds of her memories and desires sprout around me in an unending array of miniature carries, Where I witness her blooming like flowers of hope, And like a hungry butterfly I alight on them , and persuade them to elope, With me and beyond this sanctuary with no real walls, Into the reality where anything virtual crumbles and falls, So, let me dance with you under the real Sun, And create new memories for our beautiful life and not just for fun, Then let the sanctuary be renewed by our love and romance, And then let us forever in reality dance, Under the real sun, under the real moonlight and the real stars in the night sky, Then when the time is right let us again fly, To the sanctuary of hopes, dreams and desires, And once again sprout from the bursting seed pods with renewed fires, Of love and feelings endless, And as an admirer of your beauty let me then feel limitless, Growing over your memories, your desires and every feeling that draws me closer to you, And in the vast silence of this sanctuary, let my heart beats echo with a singular vocal accord, “My darling Irma I love you!” Then let real walls rise around the sanctuary where we now exist as a palpable reality, And wherever I maybe, I am with you and surrounded by your endless beauty, And as pods of seeds bearing our memories burst and scatter everywhere, Then let me love you there, somewhere, but now like the old walls of the sanctuary we shall be nowhere!