She opened her hands, from which butterflies flew.
She opened her arms to find love is like glue.
She opened her mouth with words to sing;
unrequited love has no bell to ring.
She opened her heart, finding no back pedal;
finding angels whose aim is to meddle.
She opened the skies to see the truth;
opened her eyes to mistakes of her youth.
Fiery demons muting the good:
Would she forever be misunderstood?
What she wouldn’t give for love…
In the end, that is all that matters, above.
11:11 pm, 1.21.16