white wings.

The sky of pink and lilac

Caresses the soft skin of the young,

Their minds not yet found by the harsh world,

Their bodies not yet held,

By bears holding butterflies.


Or by bears holding butterflies in the palm of their hands,

Surrounded by a net of claws,

Licking lips,

Whispering sweet nothings about their delicate white wings that shine in the light.


Butterflies fly from flower to flower,

Collecting nectar for survival.

But instead of flowers,

Bears stood in place,

And for nectar; complements.


The sky of pink and lilac

Caresses the wrinkled skin of the old,

Their minds finally found;

And their white wings continued to flutter

Long after complements stopped,

They didn’t need them to be beautiful.



Imagine a rope with no beginning or end in my head,

Squeezing at my brain and all the thoughts that are sat inside.

I try to untangle the mess,

But even my best efforts aren’t good enough.

My fingertips slip between string that i try so hard to grasp at.

I constantly try to work out this puzzle

But i can’t even fathom how to fix this mess.

While learning how the rope works and trying to untangle it

I try to make it look like i’m not trying at all;

Nobody has to know how restricting the rope is

Af if a cobra.

I know more hands would make the mess easier to clear,

But that would mean having to explain how the rope got so tangled,

And how can you explain something you don’t know the answer to?