For the Victims of Unrequited Love
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I don't have the endurance to go on chasing these butterflies, but I continue.
...chest tightening, breath shortening, I never get any closer.
Most of the time they circle around me and speed ahead, laughing at me.
It's silly to continue the pursuit, but those damn butterflies are so colorful.
The longer I run the more I feel my strength weaken, but one thing grows stronger: hope.
Because if I can do all of this for butterflies I will never catch, what will I do for the butterflies that graze my skin and settle into the palms of my hands?
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YOU ARE READING
Nappy-Headed
PoetryCall it prose. Call it poetry. Call it hastily written words. Whatever you call it...enjoy it. Be saddened by it. Learn from it. Embrace it. Bask in it. These are words written by one woman for all women. You're beautiful. Smile. There is someone...
