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This isn't exactly where I pictured myself at 28..
by Jolie Jordan
Butterfly intestines fill up my guts.
wings and bodies piled up,
like a dead pile of leaves
starting to rot.
It's November.
the days are shorter and colder,
and I'm trying to forget.
7 weeks from now
and two days later
I went blue, belly up and putrid
while you slept sound in her bed.
What was once a stomach,
filled with fluttering insects
now a hollow mass,
a mess of a girl
portraying a solid form.
11/07/2015 Posted on 11/07/2015
Copyright © 2025 Jolie Jordan
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Jared Orlando on 11/09/15 at 07:09 PM This piece says a lot with a little, simplicity in its finest form. Having just turned 28 myself yesterday, I find this piece topical. Here's to hoping 29 will regenerate us both into stronger insects. |
| Posted by Felicia Aguilar on 11/10/15 at 10:09 PM I felt this way at 28, even more so at 33. I love the imagery in this. Beautiful, yet heart-wrenching as well. |
| Posted by Gilly Wigley on 11/11/15 at 03:04 AM Beautiful! |
| Posted by Rob Littler on 11/12/15 at 04:23 PM effective image of decay put aside the need in me to feel that "sick" butterflied feeling. Wings tat beat no more. It is never going to be the same, now looking at life. There is nowhere to go from this feeling but on. With it, the dread, I mean. It is a quarter life crisis bearing down, just as authentic as any life crisis...how long can we go on denying the inevitable fact that we are in a slow-motion parade until whatever comes after this. Thanks for reminding me and sharing yours! |
| Posted by John Harder on 11/13/15 at 09:09 AM This is rather intense! I love the idea of finding out what happens to those butterflies after they stop with the fluttering. I'm pretty sure our insides aren't exactly a hospitable environment for butterflies. Excellent poem. |
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