Sittin here letting it come to me like uncomfortable truths that I don’t look for
August, June or July.
That was the month when I-
blossomed into a Butterfly and flew in your face.
You waved at me like I was in the way of your salute.
I’ve always been one to protest.
So I did…
I back to you… I flew.
I fluttered around your lips and you blew at me like I was a balloon. Like you was stuck on the date with me in a smoke filled room and the smell of my perfume didn’t stand well with you.
So have flew through the garden hoping to pick up the scent of the roses.
On my way to you I was picked up by so many noses.
I suppose it’s-
because your allergic.
Is it human nature?
see out in nature… you would be called a stapler.
Out of place.
But I wish you could just taste the air beneath my exhale.
It smells like desperation.
In debt from running out of patience.
– HRSH REYALITEE