Poetry / Of Flutterbies and Fools

Pawing at your face with the pads of your fingertips

You scramble to cover your eyes

Form a hollow to catch droplets

Of “Don’t be such a girl about it”

And “I don’t want that [you]”

Even “Sorry, I thought you knew”

Gently depositing them in your little bucket of self-pity

Wallowing as you lean back  

Berating yourself because

“Fool me once, shame on you”

Fool me [7] times, shame doesn't even begin to cover you

Prostrating yourself at the feet of someone

Who doesn’t deserve your worship

Who shouldn’t be treading over

The butterflies in your stomach

Releasing the poison of monarchs into your bloodstream

Feathered wings covering the areolar sacs in your lungs

Black and orange spots cancerous in their intent to smother you

Don’t smile when he scrapes dirt off on your soul

With the bottoms of his fancy Italian shoes

Picasso said, “There are only two types of woman:

Goddesses and doormats”

And you, my dear, are a goddess.