2 Special Things: 100th post and 1st poem!

I utterly cannot believe this is my 100th post. In some ways, it seems like I've written 1,000 and in others, like I've written 5. Oh, well.  But yes, indeed, this is my 100th post!! Totally cray-cray.

Also, today I'm posting my response to the prompt on the incredible Ashley's blog: "Not all haunted places are houses." She's been posting these prompts all summer, but this the last one of the season. Head on over to her blog and leave some comment love and a follow!! She's seriously awesome and hilarious.

I was inspired to write a poem. Which is kind of scary for me, because I've never published any poetry of mine on my blog. I've been writing poetry since seventh grade (that's about five years), and I've written hundreds of poems...probably only about 8% could even be called decent. But, I digress! Here is what I came up with: 

(ALSO: warning, I don't really use punctuation in my poetry. If that bothers you, no worries, just thought I'd warn you before my grammar nazis have heart attacks.)

Butterflies by Anne Marie J. Schlueter


I watched as they spun around

The sparks that issued from their touch

burnt my skin

But she did not see

all she could feel were the butterflies

he poured into her veins


Spinning, spinning, spinning

dizzifying magic that scared me

retreated to a corner

alone, cold, scared

But he did not see

all he could feel were the butterflies

lifting them up

and carrying them away


I looked above the whole time

as they spun between the clouds

with a gust of wind, winter came

driving them apart

falling to the ground

I stood below, trying to catch

But she did not see

all she could feel were the butterflies

shattering into a thousand pieces

the impact exploding in his heart


Breaking, breaking, breaking

disgust that I was right all along

tried to fix, desperate, scared

But he did not see

all she could feel were the butterflies

now ghosts haunting their hearts


I watched as their hearts turned into haunted houses

filled with regret, filled with hurt

Not all haunted places are houses--

hearts will serve just fine

Butterflies tickled their insides

sending sparks of pain through their bodies

Making them blinder than before

all they can feel are the butterflies

ghosts of what they once knew