Butterfly As Symbol Of Metamorphosis From Plain To Beauty. Being Touched By A Butterfly Is Luck. Butterfly

Butterfly as symbol of metamorphosis from plain to beauty. Being touched by a butterfly is luck. Butterfly effect being a small change that changes the whole thing. Butterfly symbolism is cheff kiss

Now, imagine: butterflies as allegory of trauma. Butterflies looks beautiful, but some species like Purple Emperor — the male ones specifically — eats corpses. The female ones eats rotten fruit. If butterflies swarm you, you're rotten. Similarly, it also means cycle of rebirth, which can be twisted to cycle of abuse.

I think if i put into words how happy this type of image makes me I would get diagnosed with something

He was just a slip of a boy, bones protruding at odd angles—a malnourished, waifish little thing, with coal-black hair that contrasted the stark white of his skin. He moved like a frightened lamb, cautious, one foot slowly in front of the other, and seldom opened his mouth unless spoken to. He had a kind of desperation in his dark eyes that would make anyone sick with grief. Most people would turn away, feeling disgusted and guilty, but some might reach out a hand to touch his gaunt face—thumb his downturned lips, cracked and bleeding from being anxiously licked, wind their fingers into his coarse, unbrushed hair, and watch him cower away, pathetic and shivering.

Rizer was eighteen, going on adolescent.

His eyes seemed too wide for his face, only for the fact that his cheeks hardly had anything to fill themselves with, and his eyelashes were long and thick, like a girl’s; it was his one point of beauty. He wore thin, cracked glasses which slipped down his long, pointed nose. It, like his glasses, had clearly been broken several times, and lay on his face in a frustratingly misshapen way. This wasn’t the only indication of violence Rizer carried with him. He always walked with a slight limp, always had some bruise or other blossoming tenderly on his skin—today his cheek is purple and his eye is yellow, next week his eye will be fine and there will be a string of violet fingerprints around his neck while his cheek fades into obscurity—and his knuckles were always smarting. It was ghoulish, seeing such a ravaged creature walking along the street, but, nervous as he was, Rizer was used to whatever lashings he got and had adapted to live with them.

The clothes he wore were simple, plain, cheap, effective. Block coloured long sleeve shirts, which seemed more befitting of a twelve-year-old, but that didn’t really matter given his stature, and straight legged jeans, far too baggy for him. The one item of clothing he ever wore that looked like it was actually worth a dime was a dark brown leather jacket, fitting him even worse than his own clothes—he rarely wore it out, but when he did, Rizer wrapped it tightly around his thin frame and inhaled the smell of cigarettes and cheap whiskey, basking in its comfort. Perhaps it was that which kept him nonchalant about the beatings he took; perhaps Rizer Anheuser cared about familiarity, above all things.

don’t!!! fake!!!! your!!!! interests!!!! to!!!! make!!!! someone!!!! like!!!!! you!!!!

“The subject of this poem is YOU”

The subject of this poem is you, A tapestry woven with hues anew. An enigma wrapped in mystery, A symphony of contradictions, you see. In your eyes, a universe unfurls, Flecked with stardust, the secrets it hurls. A kaleidoscope of dreams and desires, Igniting passions, setting hearts afire. Your laughter, like a gentle breeze, Whispers of joy, putting minds at ease. A melody that dances on the wind, Leaving echoes of happiness within. But there's a melancholy that resides, Deep within your soul's turbulent tides. A sadness veiled behind your smile, A burden carried mile after mile. Emotions flow like rivers untamed, An untethered spirit, forever unchained. In your veins, an artist's blood does flow, Painting emotions with every ebb and flow. Sometimes you are a tempest, wild and fierce, Unafraid to confront, to pierce. Other times, gentle as a summer's eve, A soothing presence, ready to believe. You are a paradox, a puzzle unsolved, With stories etched within, yet to be evolved. A seeker of truth, of the depths unknown, Unafraid to walk paths that others disown.

We visited a butterfly house the other day and I spent about an hour taking photos 🦋💖