The Butterfly Effect Poem by Rupert ColePalmer

Story Line:

We all wish we could change something about our life be it our size the way we act and even our personality but what hurts us the most is that are not comfortable not even with our name.

Greg did change things with one little wing flutter. She was created a long time ago she was known as a defect, she can’t find her place in this world and she is still searching for her name.

She is a mirror of me full of sad and scary strength's we both want to be honored we have allot of failures and we both share a bit of blame but we will never share our name.


Poem:

I don’t have issues with my Butterfly.
I have never been mad at my Butterfly.
I sometimes pet my Butterfly.
My Butterfly named herself Greg.
My Butterfly has lived a desperate life.
My Butterfly has lost her smile.
My Butterfly now criticizes her life instead.

My Butterfly is not doing well and everything is not okay.
Greg has lost her smile and the ability to play.

She told me about her stories and lingering worries and many of them were full of a moth colored gray.

They talk about me I overheard them say that I was stunning, stylish a bit vulgar but sweet. They called me vain a little insane and say all my strengths are weak.

They called me a Monarch Butterfly but I don’t rule a thing.
They called me the Butterfly Fairy on account of the fairytales I string.
They said I am a Social Butterfly but my doorbell never rings.
They say I give Butterfly Kisses and prey upon virgin skin.

They called me all these things as they try to defame.

They call me all these things but they have never called me by my name.

She sighed then cried so quietly you could hear butterfly tears fray.

She said I am sad again she rubbing her fly lashes and said between us what matches is you and I just want to be okay.

Greg’s wings fluttered which raised her up high and away from our connect.

And without stop or stutter her wings that created that flutter they now have created a Butterfly Effect.

Greg had been staying at a Château were she called herself by another name.

On cold nights she wraps herself tight in a soft woven Challis like a caterpillar wrapped up tight in blame.

By day she searches for the Lily-of-the-valley while being seduced by its scented bloom. I read her note which in cursive she wrote and realized she would not be coming home any time soon.

I knew her from she was a Pillar and through time I realize I could not fulfill her. She said I’m sorry I apologize for any worry and I accept the blame.

She said she misses me and dreams of kissing me and wants me to forgive her of any sense of shame.

My Butterfly Lily did leave me hanging from the Judas Tree and she offered me a flower called a Scarlet Plume. It’s poisonous but smell sweet and through my wounds it slowly seeps and I am unable to cure myself from its impending doom.

In time I may forgive her but at this time my pain still lingers like her smell and she smells like Jasmines in bloom. I have lost all sense of regret I have lost all feelings from her effect and I wonder what name I would call her, would it be a name full of honor or will it be a name that has lost all traces of its respect.