Butterfly. {poetry}
{source}
I live in between.
Not in comparison,
in relation
or like you.
Nor am I the
opposite
of all you claim
to be.
I straddle
the hand-drawn
border of
hypocrisy
and ingenuity.
I break through
the ceiling of
how the rest
of the world
expects me
to conduct
a categorical version
of my individuality.
Female. Brunette.
Orange County.
Tangible signifiers,
at the end of the day,
don’t qualify
my humanity.
I am more
than what
you see,
playing in
the invisible province
of creativity.
The fluid state
constitutes
70 percent
of my personality.
Unpredictable. Uncontained.
Nebulous bodies of water
misunderstood, beyond the observed,
to explain.
Long gone
are the days
when we looked
to the sky
for answers,
knowledge, signs, faith.
Time escapes.
My headspace
wraps around itself
choking worrisome thoughts.
I doubt
I will ever be
released from
the grip of my mind’s
asphyxiating clots.
My ego,
the control panel
hacking the server,
complicating all
that I do.
I think and see
how other people expect
me to.
Meanwhile, below,
in the intuition center
of my soul,
sparks fly,
alarms sound,
humanity is on the fritz,
my essence filter
shuts down.
Weeds sprout
where confidence
once flowed,
curling and cracking
into my vital organs.
Insurmountable anxiety,
a disorienting hold.
I am a stranger
to my body
stripped of all
I imagined myself
to transform into
never imagining
the inevitable obstacles
inherent to
navigating through humanity.
Imperfection is in our DNA.
Beauty in our hearts.
We have convinced ourselves otherwise,
depreciation of
innate traits,
the mold
of who we are.
Disability. Suffering.
When will I find this happy place?
To find happiness amidst suffering;
that is the purpose
of the human race.
To feel your feelings.
To bare your soul.
To walk around naked
even when
you are clothed.
Dye your hair.
Listen to punk.
Change your mind.
But, strive
to understand
the inaudible
whisperings of
your gut
over the raucous mind.
Your gut,
where your soul rests,
flip the switch back on,
let warm light
emanate from your chest.
Your ego attacks
calling upon
your body
to fight itself back
The roundness
of your eyes
that droop,
weary from the
internal plight;
they’ve forgotten
how to capture
the notes
that compose
the visual music
of your life.
Judgments, good or bad.
Choices, beneficial or destructive.
A polarized lens,
the ego’s construction.
The daze lingers
until the soul is obliged,
a mindful choice
to live
your destiny
despite the
highly regarded
low-brow rhetoric outside.
In the name of love,
the most potent craving
known to man,
the soul surges, agape,
even though
your mind requires its
physical manifestation.
The paradox.
The conundrum.
The eternal question.
We want to see it
to believe it.
How do I see something that
has not been explained?
Too consumed with
the minutiae of obligation;
modernity’s justification
emphasizing corporate occupation
and external stimulation over
isolation informing elucidation.
We abandon ambition
and withhold childish awe
at a butterfly
floating by,
denying Mother Nature
respect for creating
a planet sans flaw.
The Earth is sacred;
all products dynamic
yet sensitive
to the pressures
of its keepers: man.
Man craves impersonation
of nature’s hand.
He will sacrifice
anything without
acknowledging
the fruit of the land.
Nature grows
to exist;
a myriad reflections,
Gaia’s polymorphic face
replicated to teach
humans that life
is infinite,
both rooted and liberated
by gravity, yet
rotating through space.
A caterpillar grows
for two weeks
in its shell,
concealed from light,
the archaic descriptor
of hell.
A butterfly emerges, captivating,
and light,
tireless flutter,
absorbing the realms
of undiscovered heights.
An existence of 30 days
embodying the message
to live life.
Take your time
to plume
colorful patterns
of vital feathers
feeding the essence
of your soul,
revitalizing the
power centers of truth,
ending the reign of
the ego’s tyrannical
requirement of proof.
The ego is a fabrication of
industrialized humanity
to control and blind,
numb to nirvana,
the aim of humanity:
the search for the everlasting soul.
A reflection of a raindrop,
the apple of a tree,
the unknown potential
contained in the nourishment
of Earth’s inexhaustible abundance,
given to us for free.
Co-existence of planet and inhabitant,
appreciate the capacity of simplicity.
***
Courtney Hunter is a wanderer from Southern California. She has been writing since she could formulate thoughts into words at a quickly ripened age. She lived in Spain and taught English after having returned to Los Angeles with aspirations as an artist. She now writes about this life and that, and the importance of storytelling on The Plot Tribe. In her free time, Courtney indulges in the senses of cuisine, meditates on the beach, breathes into Yoga, and goes crystal-hunting. It is a part of our nature to connect with others and take part in new experiences; she lives by this, as much as she can, each day.
***
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