Harsh Butterflies
When I place my thumbs togetherSide by side
My hands become like butterflies and
I laugh just like a child.
When real butterflies become broken winged
The child inside of me dies
I must walk away and hide
Every part of myself that matters.
Life shatters us towards such harshness
That's what I think when I look at my thumbs.
Can you see me waving?
How do we become so numb?
Poetry by jenks
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Written on 2009-12-16 at 04:22
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