butterfly women, Bee

otherwise known as both, Chels Bee or myself. this image about is a free-hand copy of a women tattoo. these styles of tattoos have started becoming more and more prominent within my social(media) circle. It immediately reminds me of the contour lines and artist. Henri Matisse, that we briefly discussed in lecture. this style and image is so impactful for me due to a personal resignation. Chels and I are bonded through the most bittersweet thing to bond over with another person. Discouraged that its the reason why, yet grateful that you don't have to carry all the weight the comes with losing someone. with losing that someone. the someone that was the closest to us. for chels, her person was Mitch. her childhood boyfriend. her very bestfriend. for myself, my dad. my Opie. my very bestfriend.

Not only do we share this heart-wrenching connection, we also share losing our two very best friends on the exact same day; April 27th, as well as the symbolic infatuation of butterflies to represent the love we carry for our loved ones. and when I say infatuation, I mean it. For me, mine stems from the faint memories of my dad and I collecting butterflies when I was younger. something we shared during our time together, just him and I..which has lead to butterfly tattoos - for the both of us, and countless butterfly references. If you knew me, or her, you would just know exactly what I mean. Yet, this tattoo is not mine. It's Chels's. But even still, it speaks volumes..to me..to my heart..to my core..to my very being. It is a women body - and all of it's curves, completely protected by it's intertwined arms and butterfly wings. It is one with her. mind, body and soul. and that's exactly how I feel towards a/any/all butterfly references. towards my dad. towards his love. his for me and mine for him. I for some reason felt compelled to incorporate this Contour Line Drawing on to the poem page that I randomly grabbed from an unsorted pile in class. Despite how random it may have been, this poem continued to speak to me.

In the beginning, I grabbed the paper. I grabbed the pen. and then, I started to read. I kept only the words..the phrases..the feelings..that I liked. It was as simple as that. I kept what I liked and removed what I didn't. which, if I'm being honest, is the truth about how I go about a multitude of events, circumstances and situations in my own life. a life that I have done what I can with, to make completely mine. despite any and every other circumstance. and much like life, I took the poem and ended up with my very own "POEM AND LYRICS" on the very same page that was another authors own version of a POEMS AND LYRICS page. now altered to be my own..one that I would shamelessly name, "Butterfly Women, Bee."

"beaches glimmering

sun, sea mist

rivers; harbor-bar.

crimson-tinted

glittered seas sands,

flamed white sails

my friend

fire; prophets

self interpreted

the dead; of the light

touched the shadows

of our blame

with tongues of flame.

on man and works has

century's the Sin

the world the home

less poor. eager

adding; earth, the father - day, the old the new the life of truth

judgements

the eyes sleep:

the night the morn;

the famine the wine

The Church

his creed the forge;

Thor's own hammer welded

and bent

the iron and the fate

the weak, the poor

sin-sick

the casuist's art

the solitudes"

for me..each phrase..each line..pointed me in a direction

one that may not be implied,

but was for me..

each line a representation of the ideal life in the beginning..the beginnings

leading to the dark and twisty truth in the middle where my foe and my friend becomes all encompassing..

the build up - continuing to show the mirror to the dark sides within all of us, in life, in death, in sin, in the world, the homeless, the truth of life...that the only truth is that despite any of it - we will all die and live and die and live..

because we all drink from the same wine..we all need and want and fear the same, fundamental things

but we make these things better with the simplistic and beauty of it with thought and behavior and art and solitude..and that is my church

remembering and attributing to what I can to my dad is my religion

remembering and attributing to my dad is my religion.

which is why I emphasized "the church" in my poem..because I took a random poem and saw nothing but him..and my reflections of life without him,

while also trying to live that life without him

which is also why when the corner page ripped off from the "whole" page, to a single piece that honestly looks like a single butterfly wing - like the one I have tattooed on my ankle, I still decided to keep it..

because even though it's broken..it's still holds an important part of the poem..

of my Butterfly Women, Bee poem..

which holds 'the Solitudes'

the Solitudes that living, remembering, attributing and even journaling

for my dad..does for myself