The Memoir Of Ms. Butterfly

I never mailed this, never pressed “send,” but it lives here, between my ribs and the quiet glow of the screen.

To the ones who held me steady when I was unraveling, to the voices that reminded me I was more than my shadows— thank you.

You came along, not to fix me, but to walk beside me as I learned to name myself, to stitch together the fragments into someone I could finally recognize.

Every echo of encouragement, every gentle hand on my shoulder, every reminder that becoming is not a race— I carry them like lanterns.

I am not finished, but I am here, and I am becoming. And because of you, I believe in the beauty of the unfinished.

So this is my unsent letter, my unsent prayer, my unsent poem: thank you for coming along. For seeing me, for helping me see myself.

Ms.Butterfly Genesis

• Thank you for daring to pour into yourself, even when it felt unnatural, even when the voice in your head whispered that it was selfish. You chose to believe that tending to your own spirit was not selfishness, but survival.
• Thank you for showing up for the newest version of yourself. For every late-night reflection, every ritual, every moment where you decided to honor your own growth instead of shrinking back into old patterns.
• Thank you for carrying the weight of exhaustion and still finding ways to turn it into art, into rituals, into affirmations. You’ve proven to yourself that vulnerability can be a source of power.
• Thank you for not abandoning yourself when it got hard. For staying present in the discomfort, for letting nostalgia and longing become fuel instead of anchors.
• Thank you for teaching yourself that self-investment is not selfishness—it’s love. It’s the kind of love that builds foundations strong enough to hold both your pain and your joy.
• Thank you for becoming unapologetic in your presence. For embracing your personas, your rituals, your celestial motifs, and weaving them into a tapestry that says: I am here, I am evolving, I am worthy.

Signed, An unsent letter from me to me 🌙✨

By:Ms.Butterfly Genesis

It’s strange how little words can change how and why I keep looking at things. A sentence, a pause, a lowercase “ok”—they rearrange the whole memory.

I saw myself having specific conversations with you. I rehearsed, softened, and made them poetic in my head, but I never allowed myself to see how they would end, maybe because endings felt like failures. Or maybe because I thought if I kept talking, I could rewrite the pain before it arrived.

I guess what I’m trying to say is: if I had known what I know now, I would have never prolonged our conversation. But I did. I kept it going, hoping I was protecting myself from something unbearable. Something sharp and final. Something I wasn’t ready to name.

But silence has its own kind of violence. And I chose the slow burn over the clean break.

I don’t regret the words. I regret the waiting.

By: Ms. Butterfly Genesis

Dear Ms. Butterfly Genesis,

I’m sorry.

I know that sounds strange coming from me—to me—but I mean it. I mean it in every way a heart can mean something. I’m sorry for the years I spent believing I had to earn love by being flawless. For the way I buried my own needs beneath the weight of other people’s comfort. For the times I made myself small so others wouldn’t feel threatened by my light.

I’m sorry for not prioritizing myself. Thank you for covering up the wrongs others did to me to keep the peace. For thinking that peace meant silence, and silence meant safety. I know now that it didn’t. I now realize that I deserved to be protected, not just by others, but by myself.

I’m sorry for the pressure I placed on myself to be perfect, for chasing an image of flawlessness when I was already whole, even in my brokenness. I was terrified of my flaws, but they were never the enemy. They were the map, the truth, the proof that I was human, healing, and worthy.

I’m sorry for loving others before I learned to love myself. For pouring into people who never once asked if I was empty. For mistaking survival for strength, and silence for grace. I forgive myself for not knowing better. I forgive myself for learning the hard way.

And I thank myself for surviving, for showing up, for still believing in love, even when it hurt, for being brave enough to write this, and for being brave enough to heal.

This is not the end of my apology. It’s the beginning of my forgiveness.

With love,
Me

I used to react without thinking.

Say things. Do things.

Just to feel seen. Just to feel heard.

I thought if I was loud enough, broken enough, beautiful enough—

Someone would understand me. Maybe even you.

But now I’ve had time.

Time to sit with myself.

Time to listen to the silence I used to run from.

And I see it clearly:

I did a lot of things to prove I mattered.

Now?

I don’t need to be believed in.

Not by you. Not by anyone.

I believe in myself.

And that’s enough.

By: Ms. Butterfly Genesis

to: the version of you I used to need
sent: never
written: with a whole heart

Unbelievable how scary it was at times.
But today, I smiled. Not nervously. Not out of habit. Just a smile that warmed my heart and soul.

I don’t know when it happened.
I don’t know how.
I don’t even know why.
But I finally detached myself from what I once thought was impossible.

You lived under my skin.
I used to find comfort in that—like knowing you were there meant I was safe.
I was in love with you.
Or the idea of being in love.

Back then, I didn’t know how to love myself.
So when you came into my life, loving you was effortless.
Because all the love I should’ve poured into me…
I gave it to you.

And now?
Now I’m learning to reclaim it.
To pour it back into me.
I want to love myself as the main character, not as a backup plan.

This isn’t bitterness.
It’s clarity.
It’s peace.
It’s me, finally choosing me.

By: Ms. Butterfly Genesis

I feel stupid even putting pen to paper with this, but it’s the only way to let it out.

My birthday’s on Thursday. And while I’m grateful for health and longevity, a part of me still quietly wishes for something else—his acknowledgment. Just a sign that he knows I’m still here. Still breathing and still becoming.

I know it’s wrong to wish for that. He’s moved on. His life looks more prosperous, more peaceful. And I’ve accepted that. But sometimes, the impossible still tugs at me. I can’t help it. I own it.

There will be moments—glitches—when he creeps into my thoughts, even after all the progress I’ve made. Therapy has helped me realize I needed support, especially with communication. And letting him go wasn’t just an ending—it was the beginning of me finding the new version of myself.

So yes, I’ll have echoes of my old life. But my new life? It’s richer. Because now I understand who I am as a woman, what I desire, and what I deserve.

By: Ms Butterfly Genesis 

I hadn’t thought about you in a while. I’ve learned to tuck specific memories into quiet corners, not because you don’t matter. But today, while cleaning my room, I found something that pulled you right back into the center of my thoughts.

It was a list. Our list. The one we made of things we’d do “if we ever got the chance.” I laughed when I saw it—because one of the things on it was us finally stepping out of the friend zone. You used to joke about it, and I’d laugh, too. Not just because it was funny, but because I believed we’d have more time. More moments. More chances.

I always told you that the best of friends make the best lovers. You’d roll your eyes and grin, but I meant it. I wanted more than friendship, but I wasn’t willing to gamble what we had to test what I felt. You told me to wait until you were ready. And even though that disappointed me deeply, I respected it because your friendship meant everything.

Now that you’re not here, I don’t doubt you made the right call. Maybe we were meant to stay in that space—where laughter lived, safety existed, and love didn’t need labels to be real.

Still, I wonder what crossing that line would’ve felt like. Just once.

By: Ms. Butterfly Genesis 

She writes this one for the days ahead—for the version of herself she’s still becoming.

She will not shrink.

She will not apologize for her light.

She will wear her story like armor and silk.

And when the world asks her to be small,

She will answer with a mural.

She knows that real love will never ask her to dim. It will celebrate her contradictions, her softness, her fire. And until that love arrives, she will keep loving herself louder than the silence.

By: Ms. Butterfly Genesis

Though you’ll never see this, I’m glad to tell you I’m succeeding.
Not in the way you might have imagined: chasing fame, fortune, or validation.
I’m succeeding in the quiet, sacred way.
By finding the invisible pieces of myself.
By putting them back together.
By becoming whole again.

I’m becoming the woman I always knew I could be,
even when doubt—especially my own—tried to convince me otherwise.
Now I know I can exist.
And I will exist.
Without you.

Possibilities and dreams stretch endlessly before me.
This isn’t revenge.
This isn’t bitterness.
This is gratitude.

Thank you for leaving.
Because in your absence, I found myself.

By: Ms. Butterfly Genesis

Not out of spite. Not to prove anything to you.
But in devotion to myself.
To the girl who used to whisper dreams into the dark,
and to the woman who now speaks them aloud,
without apology.

I used to trace your absence like a scar.
Now I wear it like a medal.
Proof that I endured.
Proof that I evolved.
Proof that I stopped waiting to be chosen—
because I choose myself, every single time.

I’ve built altars from the broken pieces.
Lit candles with my own fire.
Danced in the ruins and planted gardens there.
You were the storm.
I am the aftermath—
lush, wild, untamed.

This isn’t a love letter.
It’s not a lament.
It’s a celebration.
Of silence that taught me to listen.
Of solitude that taught me to sing.
Of your leaving, which led me home.

So thank you.
Not for the pain.
But for the space it carved.
Because in that space, I found myself.
And I grew wings.

I’m not writing this to send.
I’m writing this to remember.
To honor the woman I’ve become.
To say, finally and fully:
I exist.
Without you.
And I am more than enough.

By: Ms. Butterfly Genesis

I am Ms. Butterfly Genesis.
Trademarked not just in name, but in spirit.
I rose from pages never sent,
from love that broke and rebuilt me—
wings stitched with rhythm, roots, and fire.

I am the poem that walks,
the art that speaks,
the power chair that rolls through NYC like a crown.
Every nail, every heel, every flag color—intentional.
Dominican pride, urban style, divine resilience.

I don’t shrink. I don’t wait.
I celebrate milestones like monuments.
I speak for those still finding their voice,
And I build spaces where no one’s left in the corner.

This is not just a brand.
It’s a movement.
It’s a mirror.
It’s a legacy in motion.

I am Ms. Butterfly Genesis.
And I’m exactly where I’m meant to be—
seen, heard, unstoppable.

By: Ms. Butterfly Genesis

She used to think she was broken. For years, she wore armor so heavy it became part of her skin—crafted from silence, survival, and the belief that hiding was safer than healing. She didn’t face the world because she didn’t have to. No one pushed her. Avoidance felt easier than confrontation, and for 43 years, that was enough.

But something shifted.

She began to see that the armor wasn’t protection but a prison. And she wasn’t damaged. She was waiting to feel safe enough to shed the weight and to believe that strength could look like softness. She was waiting to realize that facing the world didn’t mean losing herself—it meant finally meeting herself.

Now, she stands without the armor. Not because life got easier, but because she got stronger. She’s no longer afraid of the world she once avoided. She’s proud of the woman who chose herself after 43 years of silence. And she’s learning that healing isn’t loud—it’s steady. It’s hers.

By: Ms. Butterfly Genesis

She used to whisper her worries into the wind,
hoping someone would catch them,
translate them into answers,
or at least into softer days.

She used to count complaints like rosary beads—
each one a prayer for a life she hadn’t yet lived,
a version of herself she hadn’t yet met.

But lately, she’s been quiet.
Not silent.
Just… still.
Listening to the echo of her growth.

The things she once cursed
Now wear halos.
The obstacles?
They were architects.
The delays?
Designs in disguise.

She walks taller now—
not because the world shrank,
But because she rose.

She’s proud.
Not loud.
But proud.
Of the way she no longer flinches at her reflection,
of the way she no longer begs the past to rewrite itself.

There’s still work to do.
She knows.
But she’s no longer afraid of the scaffolding.
She’s learning to love the construction zone.

She is—
today—
more confident than the girl who woke up yesterday.
And tomorrow?
She’ll thank today for not giving up.

By: Ms. Butterfly Genesis

I wish I could talk to you—
Or more than that.
Not just words,
but the ache behind them.
It’s out there now,
for the world to see.
But you?
You never saw me.

I wish you understood
where I came from—
How the noise, the fighting,
could’ve quieted
If you’d just listened.
If you’d just heard me
Before I had to write it down.

So I use this pen,
this paper,
this pulse,
to bleed what I couldn’t say.
And maybe you’ll never read it.
Maybe you’ll never know.

But I need you to know—
I was grateful.
I saw the things you did.
I held them.
I carry them still.

Maybe I broke your heart.
But I didn’t shatter it.
I chose to live.
And I’m sorry—
But not sorry—
that I chose a life
That made sense to me.

Now it’s out there.
For the world to see.
For me to finally be.

By: Ms. Butterfly Genesis

No shame in my game.
I asked for help—
not because I was weak,
but because I was ready.
Ready to rise.
Ready to shed the version of me
that settled for survival
and step into the one
Who demands joy?

Asking isn’t a weakness.
It’s a mirror.
It’s a door.
It’s a dare to become
Who you were always meant to be.

I took what was given.
I used it.
I built with it.
I loved myself harder
than I ever thought possible.

Short poem.
Long healing.
Infinite power.

By: Ms. Butterfly Genesis

I wore steel to sleep,
dreamt in chainmail lullabies,
shielded from the sting of my reflection.

Every choice I didn’t cradle,
Every path I didn’t choose with love—
I punished myself for both.

So I built a fortress,
not to keep the world out,
But to keep me from touching myself.

But armor rusts.
It grows heavy with years.
And softness waits beneath like spring under snow.

Now, I loosen the latch.
Let the light bruise my skin.
Let the ache be a teacher, not a jailer.

I am not the wound.
I am not the weapon.
I am the one learning to hold both with grace.

By: Ms. Butterfly Genesis

You’ve been in this transition for a while now—stretching, shedding, becoming. And I need you to pause momentarily and feel the weight of that truth: you’ve come far not just in miles or milestones, but in the quiet, internal revolutions that no one sees but you.

I’m proud of you.

Proud of the way you’ve learned to stand in your light. Proud that you can finally say, without flinching, I like myself. That’s not small. That’s not soft. That’s a declaration—a reclamation.

You’ve spent years wrestling with the ache of wanting to be understood, wanting to be approved of, wanting someone else’s “yes” to validate your own. And still, you kept walking even when the silence was loud, even when the applause didn’t come. Even when the mirror asked questions you weren’t ready to answer.

But now? Now you know.

Not everyone will approve. Not everyone will disapprove. And none of it—not the praise, not the critique—can outweigh the power of your voice saying, I choose me. I approve of myself. I am enough, even when the world is undecided.

This is your season of self-authorship. Of radical acceptance. Loving yourself not because others do, but because you’ve earned it. Because you’ve fought for it. Because you’ve finally realized that your approval is the only one that truly matters.

So keep going, keep choosing yourself, and keep writing your story in bold, unapologetic ink.

You are your permission slip.

With love and reverence,
Me.

By: Ms. Butterfly Genesis

I almost said it—
The words curled like smoke
behind my teeth,
soft as surrender,
sharp as truth.

I almost kept the photographs.
Each one a shrine
to the version of me
that loved you
more than she loved her reflection.

But I deleted them.
Not in rage,
not in haste—
But in the ceremony.

Each click is a quiet funeral
For the girl who waited
to be remembered
by someone who forgot
How to see her.

I thought I’d lose myself.
That without your shadow
I’d be blank,
a canvas scraped clean
by grief.

But I was wrong.

With every image erased,
I gained a new name,
a new breath,
a new skin.

I am not defined
by the moments we captured,
But by the ones I survived
without you.

And in letting go
of the one thing
that held me hostage—
your memory—
I became
the woman
who finally chose herself.

By: Ms. Butterfly Genesis

We should never whisper joy
or dress love in excuses.
If laughter finds us in someone’s arms,
Why tuck it under shame?
Let our happiness be loud,
be proud—
be butterfly-wing brilliant.
No more sorry
for the sunlight we choose.

By: Ms. Butterfly Genesis

Fear has held me back from the most profound, most transformative experiences. It’s not just an emotion—it’s the shadow that dims my potential. But I know now that growth and fulfillment are waiting on the other side of that fear.

Love is not simple, and that’s what makes it extraordinary. It’s layered, complex, unpredictable—just like people. But every layer offers a new depth, truth, and opportunity to connect. I must remember that love doesn’t weaken me—it expands me. It sharpens my understanding, softens my edges, and opens doors to who I truly am.

To reach the fullest version of myself, I must keep my heart open and my mind wide. I can’t shy away from vulnerability, because vulnerability is strength dressed in truth. And I’m ready to live fully, bravely, and unapologetically in love.

By: Ms. Butterfly Genesis

I had no idea what becoming Ms. Butterfly Genesis would become
I had no expectations—
Because no expectations means no letdown
I just knew
I had to do something
for me
not for anybody else
But for me
’cause I needed an outlet

I didn’t know what it was gonna be
I just knew
I had to do something
for me
not for anybody else
But for me
’cause I needed an outlet

I’ve been writing
Before I was trademarked
writing
to become
to unfold
to grow
to believe

Many people wondered
Why I’d be trademarked just to blog
to create content—
But what they couldn’t see
What I didn’t even believe in myself
not yet

It took someone else
to believe first
to hand me a mirror
and whisper:
“You are already her.”

And because of that belief
Ms. Butterfly Genesis
became who she was always meant to be

Trademarked, yes—
But soul-marked even louder

It takes a fantastic team
to do what I do
Even now
Even being trademarked
Even though I’m not where they think I should be

I celebrate—
because I’ve never
been able
to celebrate myself

And maybe they won’t see it
Not all my accomplishments
not all my becoming
But I see it

Because I’ve accomplished
My biggest goal:

Believing in myself
And what I put out
into the world
into the sky
into the poem
into the public
into the pulse

Ms. Butterfly Genesis
takes flight
because she dared
to believe
She could.

You’re out there chasing your forever.
And I’m learning how to find my name
Without your shadow in the mirror
Or pieces of you in my flame

You thanked me for not believing.
That I could break or start anew
You loved me like I was unchanging
A ghost of a girl hiding from view

I held on to the dream, not the days
The life we never touched, always out of phase

But I never got to be your home
We never got the keys and never built our own
Now you’re smiling in someone else’s light
And I’m choosing me—out loud, tonight
This is the goodbye I had to write

I used to carry “what ifs” like prayer beads
Rewriting vows, we never said
But now I see the love we needed
We couldn’t breathe where we made our bed

You moved on while I unpacked my scars
And somehow, that’s the bravest part

I’m not bitter—I’m becoming.
Not broken—just unbecoming
The version of me who begged to be seen
Now she’s walking free with dignity

We never made it to Forever’s door
But I’m not waiting on it anymore
This letter’s for me, not for you to fight
I am the love; I live to write
And this… this is the goodbye I had to write

Ms. Butterfly Genesis

“Time for the Woman Becoming”
I cradle quietly like a mirror—
not to vanish,
But to see myself.

In the hush, I meet myself:
a woman wanting it all,
not in greed,
But in grace—
Love that steadies,
arms that stay
when nothing else does.

I gift myself these hours—
soft rebellions
against a world that rushes.
I listen for my name
beneath the noise.
I name myself anew
In stillness.

I’m learning that even
When life doesn’t bloom
The way I dreamed,
It gives me exactly
What I need
to grow anyway.

Ms. Butterfly Genesis

My brain won’t sleep
It paces, barefoot and bleeding,
down hallways of maybe
through doors marked, remember

I asked it to be quiet,
but it made noise in new languages.
Logic, they call it. Impulse in drag.
It spins too fast to ask permission.

I want to love the part of me
That never needs evidence.
Just feeling. the whole flood,
not the broken faucet drip of reason.

They say to think things through—
But when I do, I become
a math problem with no solution.
Do they think, too?
Or do they breathe better?

Ms. Butterfly Genesis

“Time for the Woman Becoming”
I cradle quietly like a mirror—
not to vanish,
But to see myself.

In the hush, I meet myself:
a woman wanting it all,
not in greed,
But in grace—
Love that steadies,
arms that stay
when nothing else does.

I gift myself these hours—
soft rebellions
against a world that rushes.
I listen for my name
beneath the noise.
I name myself anew
In stillness.

I’m learning that even
When life doesn’t bloom
The way I dreamed,
It gives me exactly
What I need
to grow anyway.

Ms. Butterfly Genesis

Under the vinyl moon, I whisper:
“Is it love or just a hunger for the ghost of you?”

In the silent corners of my heart,
memories echo and collide—
a soft, desperate longing
tangled with the ache of what will never be.

Am I a prisoner of endless questions,
an overthinker adrift in a sea of might-have-been?
Or does every pulse and tear
speak of love too deep to be confined?

In the quiet aftermath of yearning,
I search for liberation between each breath—
a promise of renewal
even as I surrender pieces of myself.

Ms. Butterfly Genesis

I will do my best to be honest and loyal to myself, speaking a language of truth that leaves no room for compromise.

I will give the best of me, knowing that the first and most important commitment I can ever make is to nurture the heart I call my own.

Today, I stand at the threshold of self-love, recognizing that my respect, kindness, and support are the foundations upon which every other relationship is built.

I will be present with myself in all moments of imperfection, embracing the quirks and scars that make me unique.

I vow that I will not demand perfection but cultivate self-compassion and patience.

I will honor the butterflies that arise when I choose to love myself deeply, and in doing so, I will remind myself that life is about the beauty of change and the growth that comes with each new day.

Every day moving forward, I promise to put myself first, not out of selfishness but from a deep understanding that if I do not cherish and protect my spirit, I cannot truly give to the world.

Even when tomorrow calls me to change, I will always find the courage to be my constant, unwavering source of support.

This is my vow: to respect, nurture, and celebrate myself as the masterpiece I am, not just today but in every moment of my life.

Ms. Butterfly Genesis

It’s easy to claim the title,
harder to earn the name—
late nights, early mornings,
hands that shape and guide a flame.

We call them superheroes,
The ones who stay, who teach,
Who builds love brick by brick,
Who answers every call?

If I could think of my father,
He’d be my first love,
The one who taught me love—
But instead, I look above.

A fatherless daughter,
Wishing well to the ones who stand,
Who shows up, who carries?
Who teaches love by hand?

Happy Father’s Day
to the ones who stay.

Ms. Butterfly Genesis

The mind whispers,
a truth carved months ago,
But the heart—
stubborn, slow—
waits for the photograph,
for proof in ink and light,
for the ache to settle in its ribs.

It was real,
long before my eyes confirmed it,
But I only felt the break
When the silence turned heavy,
When my chest tightened,
When all I could do
I was listening to a song louder
Then the pain, I couldn’t unsee.

Ms. Butterfly Genesis

A photograph—a mere flicker,
Yet it carves a shadow in my heart,
Reminding me that healing is no straight path,
But a tapestry of scars and soft reprieves.

In that still frame,
I see a whisper of all I’ve endured,
A question echoing: can a captured glance
Unravel the stitches of my mending soul?

Yet, I resolve—each flash of memory.
It is a call to transform pain into purpose,
To honor the fragments rebuilding me,
And to step beyond cycles into the light of change.

Ms. Butterfly Genesis

I wake with weight, unnamed and wide,
a fog that sits where hope should hide.
No wound to trace, no clear regret,
echoes I can’t quite yet.

My mind demands a neat reply,
a name, a cause, a reason why—
But sometimes sorrow has no script,
Just silent tides the soul can’t grip.

Ms. Butterfly Genesis

All day, I chase silence,
But silence refuses me.
Not knowing if you are whole,
If I still linger inside you,
If memory serves, I cannot see.

I tell myself—let the past rest,
let the present be a present,
Let the future write its name.
But the wanting persists,
pulls at my ribs,
presses against my skin.

You were quiet,
The calm in my trembling,
The hush to the frantic pulse in my chest.
When your sister was here,
words were enough—
a question, a sigh,
a moment of knowing without asking.

Now silence is mine alone to hold.
No hands to pass it to,
no voice to soften its weight.
So I learn, slowly, painfully,
to soothe myself
by myself.

Ms. Butterfly Genesis

It didn’t hit me until today—
The hollow where your name used to sit,
The silence where my fingers once knew the rhythm
of dialing you just because.

For a while, your profile was enough—
a phantom of presence, a lingering thread.
But now, the echoes have emptied,
no image, no trace,
just a void where you once were.

Am I chasing ghosts
or simply learning to let them rest?
I wished. I hoped. I prayed.
Yet, in the end,
We turned into ashes.
Ms. Butterfly Genesis

In the silent arena of self,

There exists a muscle stronger than steel—
a restless mind that sings or strikes,
Weaving our truths with every beat.

When doubt casts shadows at midnight,
It spawns a thousand winding questions,
detouring our words and essence,
challenging the core of our existence.

They urge, “Be stronger than your thoughts,”
a call to quell the inner storm;
Yet, when each thought resonates loudly,
Silence becomes the most complex form.

For thoughts possess the spark of power,
defining who we are with every hue—
an echo of dreams and fears combined,
a canvas where our realities ensue.

We’re told to act before the mind unfolds,
Yet sometimes thinking feels like a chain,
a relentless critic pounding away,
Each reflection is a bittersweet refrain.

In the struggle to shut out clamoring doubts,
We desire a stillness, a quiet reprieve—
only to find that within that very turmoil
Lies are the chance to learn and to believe honestly.

Ms. Butterfly Genesis

Spilling words onto paper and carving meaning into lines
is not foolishness—it is courage. It is reaching through silence,
finding a place where no voice says, I don’t believe you,
where no ear turns away, impatient for action alone.

Some build worlds with hands, some with footsteps,
Some with quiet ink bleeding into parchment.
You know he will never read them.
Perhaps that is the most painful truth—
But it does not make your words worthless.

They are the stitching of a heart mid-repair,
The slow gathering of what was scattered,
The unspoken confessions shape the air.

If your choice feels like the right one for you,
then it is not for anyone else to name it as wrong.
Regret may whisper, memory may sharpen,
but your words are yours, and they are real.

Maybe action is permanent to him,
But language, even fleeting, is permanent to you.

And perhaps, in ways unseen,
He feels the weight of what you have written,
even if he never reads a single word.

Ms. Butterfly Genesis

In the quiet hours before dawn,
I search the fading horizon for your glow—
a beautiful angel adrift in celestial hues,
whispering guidance through the murmur of my heart.

I pen my confessions on fragile paper,
Each word is a plea cast into the vast unknown.
How I long for your presence—to have you near,
to help me decipher this tangled maze of now
and to hold back the overwhelming tide of tomorrow.

I stand at the crossroads of regret and hope,
haunted by echoes of lost chances.
Every missed step has etched its sorrow
upon the parchment of my soul,
And I wonder, where lies the delete button
to silence the pain in my relentless mind?

Yet even as I tremble before the uncertainty,
I find solace in the fragile beauty of today.
For in every breath, in every hesitant moment,
Your unseen voice beckons me to keep moving—
to learn the art of navigating the uncharted
With the courage that comes from within.

So, angel of light, listen to my yearning—
Let your wisdom be the gentle compass
that guides me through the storm of what-ifs,
transforming the weight of loss into tender strength,
and the mystery of the future
into a vast canvas of infinite possibility.

May your silent embrace remind me
that even in the darkest chapters,
The spark of hope still burns,
leading me, step by uncertain step,
toward the dawn of a new, resilient day.

Ms. Butterfly Genesis

In the quiet language of farewell, we ask—
How can we articulate the finality of goodbye
When every parting sigh cradles a lifetime of shared moments?
A tapestry of joy, sorrow, and whispered confessions—
woven so deeply into our souls that
To sever this thread feels like unraveling our very essence.

Yet, in that bittersweet parting, there lies a tender grace—
a promise that pain, though real, is but a transient visitor,
And that within every goodbye blooms the subtle seed
of a new greeting, a softened “see you later.”
For memories do not fade; they shimmer in the twilight,
an eternal echo of loves once known and lived.

So we do not merely bid adieu, but rather,
Thank the stars for the beauty of shared moments,
tracing the delicate curves of what might have been,
while embracing the courage required to step forward.
In every farewell, there is no end,
But a gentle metamorphosis, reminding us that we are forever entwined.

What if goodbye isn’t final but simply a pause in a symphony
where each note lingers in the spaces between,
reminding us that even in the absence, love endures,
And every ending births the murmur of new beginnings.

Ms. Butterfly Genesis

My mind wanders through dim-lit corridors, asking silently—
Do they think of me
or harbor the desire
I once poured out like whispered secrets?*

I remember a time when longing spun its delicate web, when I craved him with a fierce, desperate certainty—now, my heart bears the weight of its echo, a cruel punishment etched deep into my soul.

Each thought is a sticky Band-Aid, refusing to peel away, clinging stubbornly like old scars that speak of pain and protection in equal measure. For every tear I dare to shed, another covers the wound, a reluctant guardian against emotions I’m not yet brave enough to face it.

So I let the cycle run its silent course, each layer is a testament to bittersweet memories and the unyielding grip of a past that continues to define me— a mosaic of tender torment, where the echoes of desire dance with the scars of time.

The journey through these layered emotions is a refuge and a realm of persistent trials. Embracing the vulnerability of each unfading scar might eventually guide you toward a deeper understanding of your inner world, a poignant exploration of what it means to be both broken and resilient. Would you like to explore how this metaphor might evolve into a more extended narrative or inspire a series of reflective verses?

Ms. Butterfly Genesis

I stand as a woman
crafted of resilience and desire—
not defined solely by a chair,
nor by the devices that help me rise each day.
They sometimes look with pity,
a straightforward narrative of sorrow and limitation,
When, honestly, they should ask
about the vast, untold story within.

What is “normal” anyway?
No life fits a neat mold,
No one escapes the raw chaos of existence.
We are all fundamentally living
to live—a dance of imperfection and grace,
where every scar and every aid it
is part of our unique symphony.

I am not diminished by the tools I use;
They are but extensions of my being,
helping me navigate a world
that so eagerly jumps to conclusions.
Like every other woman,
I crave to be seen, heard, and loved—
beyond the assumptions and the pitying glances,
beyond the surface that society is so quick to label.

There is power in knowing,
In asking the questions that reveal who we truly are.
I invite you to look deeper,
to find the strength and beauty hidden
In our differences—
For every woman, whether “disabled” or not, it
is a universe of wonder and worth.

Ms. Butterfly Genesis

I once wandered these crowded streets
chasing fleeting nods and whispered applause,
Each face a mirror reflecting a part of me
I thought, defined by the world’s gaze.

In every gentle smile, every hesitant hand—
I sought validation that slipped away
like autumn leaves carried on an indifferent wind,
a reminder that no crowd could ever hold me whole.

Now, in the quiet pulse of my heartbeat,
I carve out a sanctuary where only my truth sings.
I no longer bend for the echo of distant cheers;
my solitary voice is enough—firm.

For all the roads I believed needed paving
With borrowed lights and unearned acceptance,
I now walk the untrodden path of self-discovery,
where every step is mine—and perfectly enough.

Ms. Butterfly Genesis

I press my fingers against the veins
where his name used to bloom,
scratching at syllables that cling like ivy—
unwanted, unyielding.

I whisper to my body: exhale.
Let the letters unravel,
let the roots shrivel beneath my skin,
let me breathe without his ghost
settling in my lungs.

No more running.
Just healing.
Just reclamation.
Just air that belongs to me.

Ms. Butterfly Genesis

Another late-night mine is running—
a torrent of verses unbound
in the quiet hum of sleepless hours.
I don’t know where these words will settle,
but they must find their final rest
for me to taste the peace beyond the flare
of yesterday’s burning reflections.

My thoughts, restless as city lights on darkened streets,
linger on his fading silhouette—
each memory a whisper, a ghost
tracing lines of what once was.
Yet, as he inks a new chapter
in a story all his own,
I see our past dissolve into the margins,
An echo is no longer meant for my page.

Between the pulse of midnight breaths
and the soft scratch of pen on paper,
I search for myself in fragments of what remains—
in a truth that clears the clutter of old pages,
so I can embrace the calm of beginnings
even if they sing the elegy of an ending.

Ms, Butterfly Genesis

I trace the outlines of transformation,
but my hands falter at the seams—
how do I shed the weight of yesterday
when it has wrapped itself around my ribs
like a shelter, like a cage?

I say I want to be new,
but the old whispers back,
soft and familiar,
its echoes laced with fear,
with comfort disguised as chains.

Still, the wind hums possibility,
still, the sun does not hesitate to rise.
Perhaps change isn’t an escape,
but the quiet undoing of everything
I thought it kept me whole.

Ms. Butterfly Genesis

I want to be
who I was always meant to be—
unapologetically whole,
a force, a light, a knowing.

No longer measured by whispers
or bound by borrowed beliefs,
I build so I can grow,
understand so I can move.

The door that fears locked—
I open wide,
let in every chance,
let go of every doubt,
Meet the woman staring back—
and finally, she is mine.

Ms. Butterfly Genesis

I should feel relieved—
They say healing is freedom,
But part of me is still caged
by the ghosts of who they said I should be.

I was a reflection in their eyes,
a version of myself sculpted by whispers,
until I could no longer see
The outline of my existence.

I have given away too much,
let hands shape me,
let voices mold me,
let love and loss
Decide who I am.

But that’s not my story.

My story is simple.

I am hurt.
I am gathering.
I am reclaiming
Every piece they tried to take.

And I pray—
That never again
Will I lose another piece
of me.

Ms. Butterfly Genesis

She was never there in the delivery room,
yet her arms held steady through every storm.
No name on the birth certificate,
but in the heart, etched, unwavering, strong.

Mothers are woven not just through lineage,
but through love fierce enough to shape a soul.
A whisper of wisdom in sleepless nights,
a hand reaching out when the world feels cold.

The children who find us, by fate, by need,
crossing paths as strangers, leaving as kin.
Bound not by birth, but by something more profound,
a devotion that does not begin nor end.

To mother is to give without losing,
to be selfish enough to put another first.
Not just to nurture but to fortify
and teach that love is a force, unrehearsed.

So here’s to the mothers who arrived unexpectedly, held hands through heartbreak, and built futures from hope.
To every bonus child, every chosen love—
Happy Mother’s Day to those who mother beyond blood.

Ms. Butterfly Genesis

Marriage is so much more than vows wrapped in lace,
more than the sparkle, the guests, the grand embrace.
It’s the quiet work, the steady climb,
the dance of two souls learning to intertwine.

To be one, yet remain whole,
to give, yet guard the depths of the soul.
Each day, there is a lesson, each step is a test,
and two hearts are evolving, seeking what’s best.

Mistakes will come like waves at night,
but love is not built on avoiding the fight.
It’s daring to falter, grow, and trust in love when the answers don’t show.

We should be partners, not judges, free to confide,
where feelings are held, not pushed aside.
Not always to agree, but always to stand,
Two rebels in love, hand in hand.

They say,
“If they wanted to, they would.”
As if desire were a simple thread
pulled tight between two souls.
As if absence were proof
that I do not exist in their world.

But I search anyway,
trace names onto the wind,
place my own heart into hands
that never reached for me.

My mind whispers sense—
tells me I am whole without them,
without the longing,
without the empty spaces
I carve in their absence.

Yet my heart, stubborn as the tide,
pulls against logic,
against reason,
against the quiet acceptance
that some names
I am never meant to call mine back.

And I wonder—
If only mind and heart
could run side by side,
If only they could race toward truth together,
Would I finally find peace
In the ones who never looked,
in the hands that never reached,
In the love that, perhaps,
Was never meant to be mine?

Ms. Butterfly Genesis

Dear Self
I don’t know where to begin,
I don’t know where to end,
But I know these words must flow.
For every single thing I’ve ever told you
Deserves to echo back, to remind you—
You’re smart, you’re driven,
You’re outspoken, fearless,
Unyielding in pursuit of what you want.

You crave a life only you can build,
A dream shaped by your own hands.
And yet, approval,
The weight of wanting it—
It stops you cold.
But listen closely:
Not everyone will gift you
The support you’ve longed for,
Yearned for,
I felt you needed to survive.

Understand this:
You are enough.
All you need is you—
This truth, this power.
Everything else is but the paint on your canvas,
Cosmetic, fleeting, inconsequential.

Ms. Butterfly Genesis

Standing firm is knowing and understanding who I am and who I’m not willing to be just because it’s easier for him.

Standing firm is knowing I’m a woman, not an object of his choice, and when he chooses to play.

Standing firm also means understanding that I’m not perfect and that I’m going to make mistakes. I also don’t have to apologize if I repeat the same mistake.

I stand firm in my choice because no one else will if I don’t choose myself.

Ms. Butterfly Genesis

Today is one of those days where he is overpowering my thoughts with the thoughts of a damn; I wish I could hear his voice.

His voice could calm my anxiety in my brain or just the desire my body feels for him.

I chose not too long ago to no longer be that broken record of saying I am not long going to speak to you again and never being strong enough to follow through because I would allow my heart to hear what my love was.

As much as my heart would feel full because of his voice as that power, I wouldn’t do it.

For once, I don’t want to come up short; I need to come through with something in my life.

I love him and will always love him. I love myself more, and my needs and wants are essential.

Ms. Butterfly Genesis

I am stuck in my head, so I have not been able to place my thoughts on paper.

I should be able to unblock myself by putting myself on paper, but not even a blank piece can help me find myself.

The struggle is real. I am, sadly, in my way, with a one-track mind eight days into the new year, and I dislike admitting this to myself. My thoughts are with him and his family.

Devil is working overtime, so I can vow to myself as 2025 comes in. One of the many vows I made to myself was to stop reaching out to those who don’t look for me.

If those people I used to make a priority in my life are not searching or wondering where I could be, they no longer have room in life because I was never necessary to them.

If I could be necessary to anyone, they should be able to move mountains just like I would for everyone because I am such a giver.

My heart is heavy, but my faith strength is going to battle my struggles. I understand  I deserve better, and it’s time to improve.

I deserve better if I stay true to my vow to myself.

Ms. Butterfly Genesis

The journey of parenthood is indeed complex and deeply personal. It’s a path that often involves immense sacrifice and selflessness, as many parents prioritize their children’s needs above their own. The sentiment you’ve expressed acknowledges the profound dedication and love a parent can have for their child, sometimes at the cost of their own identity or desires.

While there’s no definitive guidebook for parenting, it’s widely recognized that maintaining one’s own identity and practicing self-care are important, not just for personal well-being, but also for being a role model for children. It’s about finding a balance between nurturing oneself and one’s child, which is easier said than done.

Your reflection on your mother’s sacrifices and your wish for her to have also cared for herself is touching. It shows a deep understanding and appreciation for all that she has done, as well as a desire for her to experience fulfillment in her own right.

Ms. Butterfly Genesis

Sometimes the words we need to say,
Are the hardest ones to speak,
For fear of pain that may relay,
The memories that we seek.

But in the silence, hearts may yearn,
For closure and for peace,
It’s through our voices we discern,
The way to sweet release.

So take a breath, let go of fear,
And speak from deep inside,
For honesty can draw us near,
To where the truth resides.

And though the past may hold its sting,
The future’s yet unwritten,
With courage, love, and hope we bring,
A chance for new beginnings.

From the ashes of despair, a phoenix rises,
A woman of strength, full of surprises.
Broken, yes, but never defeated,
With every fall, she’s more complete.

She stands tall amidst the storm,
Transformed by trials, she breaks the norm.
Each scar is a story of battles won,
A testament to all she has overcome.

With courage as her compass, she charts her way,
Turning her darkest nights into days.
She’s a warrior, a survivor at heart,
Piecing herself back, part by part.

So here she stands, unyielding, bold,
A force of nature, impossible to hold.
A woman who’s been broken yet stands with grace,
An inspiration, moving forward at a steady pace.

Ms. Butterfly Genesis

Congratulations on reaching 5000 K viewers on your blog! 🎉🎈 It’s an incredible achievement, and you should be proud of yourself. 🌟

I understand that sometimes emotions can cloud our perspective, but take a moment to appreciate the significance of this milestone. 5000 K viewers means that thousands of people are interested in what you have to say. They care about your content, your journey, and your experiences. That’s no small feat!

It’s natural to feel a mix of emotions—both excitement and perhaps a touch of frustration. But remember, you’ve created something that resonates with others. Your words have touched hearts, sparked curiosity, and kept readers coming back for more.

So, let me say this: Thank you for sharing your thoughts, your stories, and your passion. Thank you for persevering even when doubt crept in. And most importantly, thank you for believing in yourself and your ability to make an impact.

Keep writing, keep sharing, and keep celebrating every step of your journey. Your audience is here because they value what you bring to the table. 🤗

Ms. Butterfly GENESIS