The Butterfly Beloved 

Comfortable
cocoon skin
wrapped so safe
wet wombly dark.

It is frightening to
open
to the effulgent
light of love

blinking eyes
turn away
being vulnerable
risking heartbreak
rejection
to lose
what was familiarly safe

but it’s much scarier
for me to not…

The duty of a
tutelary relationship itself
is to trigger each other
and help each other
evolve into a
higher

place

more conscious
a fantastic expression
of the ever oscillating elements
unique
flesh temporal and
longing to benefit

That’s the profound task
of the beloved.

It can be exceedingly
uncomfortable
as we open skin exposed

an evening fall breeze
from a window left open
exposed goosebumps
on an un-blanketed bed.

For me
this unwrapping
embodies
no less than
the genuine
spiritual path itself.

For my whole life
I’ve used my religion
to opiate myself with
an umbilical cord of
co-dependency

shadows
of images
outside the membrane
not so bright
as to strain
offer
flickers of dim comfort

to bypass early wounds
still open
alone
unhealed

to existentially
protect me from hurt
seeking refuge in
someone

anything

safe and
stuffed snuggly
anyone else to indeed ultimately
escape from myself.

They were not safe.

People can be a drug.
Religion can dim drunk
den opiate a life.

We will never become the light
of magnificent bliss
this way
and
I’d even settle for
well-being.

I have before
only known love as a need
not really seen
them for them
my lovers
really I could only see
my own fractured face

using others into a vein
to make me feel better
as an intoxicant itself

pasting camphor balm
over bruises
the fleeting solace
of faux love.

This is ego
a mere desert mirage of comfort
and it never penetrates
the core, el core, the heart.

Could I ever dare venture one step deeper?

I feel something real in here
out there
somewhere

and that’s a whole lot better
than this silent
street pantomime
thick white makeup
black bars of
of my life’s unending lie.

What would be real
would be…
my beloved

and I could finally discard
these dried scales
ever so dated
damp cocoon cells
of false love
and religious suckling.

May I find the most vast
exquisite painted
uncrumpled wingspan
of love someday
within me

~ without me ~

I know it is there.

 


photo: Orange White and Black Butterfly Perched on Flower Uploaded at February 18, 2016 License✓ Free to use. ✓ No attribution required. Learn more about the license »

Comment:

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this:
search previous next tag category expand menu location phone mail time cart zoom edit close