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Butterfly Walking Poem
I am like the giving tree,
ready to tear myself apart,
letting him seep into every fragment of me.
I carry the weight of him—
swirling in the depths of my stomach
at the mere mention of his name.
If to love is to truly know,
I’d spend every waking moment
memorizing each gesture,
every reaction he might show,
just to prove my devotion.
I’d offer my life and death
with pride swelling in my chest—
never hesitating,
never second-guessing.
To exist solely for his love,
even if it leads to my end.
I am the giving tree.
Copyright © Butterfly Walking | Year Posted 2025
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Details |
Butterfly Walking Poem
If forgetting is to life as remembering is to death; my fate is uncontrollable.
I can wish to erase memories and detach your existence from my mind pointlessly if I dare.
Though id much sooner give my breath up to have spent the last one reminiscing on everything you are to me.
If moving on is to forgetting as being stuck is to remembering; consider me comfortable in my place.
Accepting the idea that our story together has ended, that I should speak of you in the past tense.
The soul built on hope and bittersweet naivety that soaks up and creates my being wants to believe that this isn't permanent.
Given the opportunity I don't have faith in my own capability of seeing past all the pain I've been left to relish in.
Knowing you, the chance won't present itself.
A bridge I'll never have to cross, only one I can stand solemnly at the end of.
Copyright © Butterfly Walking | Year Posted 2026
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