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