Dead Butterflies

#3 | 31 Poems for August 2015

I received a notification that you posted a picture an hour ago.
How you manage to look that happy is something that I’ll never know.
I’ll never know if I’ll ever be able to let you go.
Watching TV, while Passenger’s Let Her Go is on repeat.
I’m listening, but sporadically missing the lyrics and the beat.
It hurts to write but it hurts even more walking around with an untold story.
So I write to write, I write to save myself.
I write to save the little bit of love that I have left.
The song keeps playing, “Only know you love her when you let her go.
Let her go, but I need to let her know that my love will continue to grow.
My love for her is something that I’ll always proudly show.
They say home is a beating heart and sweaty palms.
Home is where the heart is and that’s what hurts the hardest.
Help me stop the hurting, help me become a better person.
Too many times I try to hide all that I’m feeling inside.
The pit of my stomach is full of dead butterflies.

I received a notification that you posted a picture an hour ago.
How you manage to look that beautiful is something that I’ll never know.
I’ll never know if I’ll be able to ever let you go.
But just know, my reflection of love is eternal even if the mirror begins to crack.
Even though you have left, I’ll always try to get you back.
Too many times I try to hide all that I’m feeling inside.
The pit of my stomach is full of dead butterflies.

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