THE JUST POET BW _

So I tried to trap it,
not in a jar,
but in my stomach,
where butterflies riot like regrets.

But the twist?
She wasn’t the butterfly.
I was.
Drawn to light,
burned by beauty,
fluttering too close to what I couldn’t hold.
I was the fleeting thing,
the ache in motion,
the ghost with wings.

Now these flutters whisper her name
every time I breathe.
Bloody daffodils bloom in my chest,
spring’s innocence soaked in crimson,
petals soft as regret,
growing from heartbreak’s grave.

Black canvases are easier to paint,
they don’t fight the darkness.
They welcome it.
They swallow it whole.

If seeing is believing,
then why is love blind?
Lo,
the cruelest joke God ever told.

So let the heart catch a sigh,
a breath too heavy to hold.
Let it collapse under the weight
of the beauty He betrothed to His daughters
divine, untouchable,
infuriating.

Njwetse hantle,
Dinonyane tsa mapheo ga di tshwarwe ke pelo.
Mefifa ga e swe dintlha tsa moya wa mowa.
Mme nna?
Ke tla nna phaphatha,
Lehemu,
Le lorato.