This pen is alive, truth rises from this paper. She was once burned alive and no one cared. She carries the moon upon her shoulder. I can’t even draw her beautiful enough, she draws me. Does she really belong here? Butterfly Lady on earth?
Her ears are on the other side. She knows all the animals. Her legs don’t even matter. Flames don’t even hurt her. The paper is not enough. She needs to live. Her hair is frozen in time. Her legs are coiled. Her body is wrapped in rainbow ribbons. She has several ethereal snakes inside. She can hear your secrets. She is a sacred Butterfly Lady. No one can ever draw her beautiful enough. My hands shake. She rises from the paper through me as I give her life. She weaves in and out of my mind as if I am simply her tunnel. The words cannot stop her from disappearing and reappearing.
Webs made of rainbows. Butterfly Lady what have you done? Where do we live? Your face rises from the paper to greet me.
The Great Land I have forgotten never ceases to beckon…and I will return, don’t forget me.
The wings are made by me alone…to go HOME to my invisible star.
The stars lie scattered. This would be the little corner of our sky. Yellow Star Lady is my true name…
It’s as if there were flames- but they were made of white and blue. Nobody knew what happened. ALMOST nobody. Everyone just looked the other way. Look at us now.
Stupid broken stars, couldn’t put themselves together again (like Humpty Dumpty) Don’t sir on a wall or you might have a great FALL.
RED ALERT- Here’s the problem behind the rising sun. Too many faces in the water paper begging to be born by me.
I see faces all over the paper and I can’t draw them all. I’m not that strong (weight of your maddening cries upon me) Earth has become our prison. (prism) DRAW YOURSELF.
I am called the PROPHET of the rising sun. It’s me. Yellow Star always to the endless.
I’m going to require a frame with BOTH a front AND a back end. Otherwise this whole entire TRIP DOWN has been a lie (two look through)
Let me out of the picture…unless you can handle seeing the WHOLE thing!!!
Do they even make pictures that Hold stars!?
Yellow STAR is my true NAME.
If I carried a name which I don’t. Please give me a frame (fRAME BOX WHATEVER EARTH CALLS IT) that WORKS!
I am a yellow Star that thought earth could sink me at one point…when they killed GOD.
But they can’t…sink me. I AM YELLOW GOLDEN ENDLESS STAR.
Yes, yes…the stars fell and broke. YES, get over it! You are a broken star leaking light which is the same as a boat with a hole…
I am filled with tears therefore and you cannot save me. Although I love you more than I care about filling my hole so I won’t die. I will let you kill me secretly so that we both can live through you. I therefore shall name you GOD. And I shall be called the little one you left behind but never forgot- and because of you I became the little lonely yellow star…
and I’m not that little because without me you could not be GOD.
And that is my love that is both the sky and the deepest of all waters.
OM TARA is mostly Blue. OM TARA. OM TARA.
She is Blue and she lives in the waters of OUR HEART. Broken star LOOK THERE. The sky fills the water’s FACE. It is TARA you see.
Who could be more beautiful…sad sad little, you are not alone. You are everywhere.
Heart broken and pure just look here.
The truth is in this corner that I’m not putting colors in…ONLY GOLD.
I see upside down eyes everywhere- whose roots reach from trees that did not begin here. My hands are calloused writing away this pain…the story goes, she sees inside and outside of everything before it starts- before any seed was ever implanted…
birds fill my hands with this like shadows breaking free from the night….
my hand my hand my my hand my hand. MY HAND
sharada devi 4/4/19