Nicole, Cortisol Sonata, is astounding. One of the best poems I've read in a long time. And I read a lot of poems, every day. You should accept this as the high form of compliment that it is.
I find it interesting that of late, I have been questioning the amount of calm in my life, even longing for a bit of chaos. And here, I read something that feels like a refection form the opposite side of the mirror... saying, Truth isn't found in the storm, or the chaos, but in the steady, safe places. There's a balance, somewhere. I know I've seen it as I swing by on my way from one extreme to another. hehe. 😉
Oof. “They sold us butterflies” hit like a slap in the nicest way. I’ve done that whole thing where calm felt fake and my body was screaming THREAT the whole time. The “absence of wings” line felt like an actual exhale.
Ugh me too. Fortunately I got annoyed and changed the email. But I don't understand their issue. Different email for different things is far more manageable
But I like the butterflies (at my age, I’d still love to feel them every now and then :)) )—but yes, that peace in a relationship is understandable. Still… can I have the butterflies this time? :))
Great piece Nicole. The warnings our body sends us are so plainly obvious sometimes. In the moment they seem like something different, required even when you think you’re in love.
Our bodies know before our brains. But those outside voices pushed on us became our inner monologue. No wonder we “fed our bodies to the butterflies.” 🦋 Great piece, Nicole! I’m unlearning too.
The body as witness, the butterflies as lie, devotion as mis-education, it reads like a forensic report on desire. I feel every misread signal, every late-night tremor, every fossilized “love” in the bones. And then yes, the quiet victory of the body unflinching, the trust in absence, the realization that stillness isn’t betrayal. You’ve mapped panic as pedagogy, and survival as a syllabus. Reading this, I can almost hear the hush of wings never beating again, and it’s a relief, not a loss.
Wonderful and thoughtful work, Nicole.
Thank you, Fatima! 🤗
Nicole, Cortisol Sonata, is astounding. One of the best poems I've read in a long time. And I read a lot of poems, every day. You should accept this as the high form of compliment that it is.
Thank youuuu, Kelly! High praise, indeed, thank you so much! 🤗
Oh, you’re welcome Nicole. You are a wonderful poet!
Learning to trust the absence of wings… 🪽 Beautifully said.
Although, I’ve been married 30+years and every now and the I still get butterflies over us. 🦋 😏
That is amazing, when it happens in safe conditions and you trust the reason. 🤗 Thank you for reading, Kim!
I find it interesting that of late, I have been questioning the amount of calm in my life, even longing for a bit of chaos. And here, I read something that feels like a refection form the opposite side of the mirror... saying, Truth isn't found in the storm, or the chaos, but in the steady, safe places. There's a balance, somewhere. I know I've seen it as I swing by on my way from one extreme to another. hehe. 😉
Oof. “They sold us butterflies” hit like a slap in the nicest way. I’ve done that whole thing where calm felt fake and my body was screaming THREAT the whole time. The “absence of wings” line felt like an actual exhale.
Thank you, Asuka, glad it resonates! 🙌
This is brilliant. And you found a place for the butterflies collection....
Thank you, Sara! Been fighting with that for a bit 🤗⚔️
Ugh me too. Fortunately I got annoyed and changed the email. But I don't understand their issue. Different email for different things is far more manageable
That was brilliant Nicole, you absolutely nailed every aspect of the story of love that we’ve been sold. Perfect.
Thank you, Maria! 🤗
But I like the butterflies (at my age, I’d still love to feel them every now and then :)) )—but yes, that peace in a relationship is understandable. Still… can I have the butterflies this time? :))
As long as you’re in charge of the fluttering, you can have the butterflies too! :)
What tragedy befalls upon the young
Who thrash about, romantic songs be sung
And wail about for love to rear its head
As flail with doubt, and drift alone in bed
For twenty years, I carried doubt of wife
Who by my side we shared all signs of life
Surrendered I, when two things came to mind:
I must broadcast my love, not seek to find
For years of seeking, searching, hunting prey;
For trained we are to treat the lay as slay
Such instincts fail to teach us how to keep
What love may come when side by side we sleep
Joshua, that is beautiful and actual, thank you for this!
Great piece Nicole. The warnings our body sends us are so plainly obvious sometimes. In the moment they seem like something different, required even when you think you’re in love.
Thank you, @Regolith! Yes, indeed, we think the warnings are a must, instead of running. 🤗
Can I blame shitty love songs?
ahah, those yes but it's the entire culture around us, not just the music.
Trying to unlearn all these years of programming is hard. But the first step is this. Awareness. Thanks for writing so beautifully x
Our bodies know before our brains. But those outside voices pushed on us became our inner monologue. No wonder we “fed our bodies to the butterflies.” 🦋 Great piece, Nicole! I’m unlearning too.
Thank you, Becky! It’s the culture we grew in for sure, but great that as we age, we figure out for ourselves what our body really means.
Yes! And generally, I'm listening to the bitch aka my nervous system A LOT more lol.
I finally got it.
The feeling of butterflies are not a good thing. Not always bad, but not always good.
I need to write this down...
Usually bad, HVR, signals your body knows something is wrong, uncertain, and you are blind to it in your rush to fall in love. Thank you for reading!
They teach us cortisol in blood in teaching and classroom management, but I never applied it to this kind of situation.
Cool and weird image above. Excellent work. 🫂🫂
Thank you so much, Fiona! ☺️
This is so gorgeous. The voice over is so wonderful.
Thank you so much!
The body as witness, the butterflies as lie, devotion as mis-education, it reads like a forensic report on desire. I feel every misread signal, every late-night tremor, every fossilized “love” in the bones. And then yes, the quiet victory of the body unflinching, the trust in absence, the realization that stillness isn’t betrayal. You’ve mapped panic as pedagogy, and survival as a syllabus. Reading this, I can almost hear the hush of wings never beating again, and it’s a relief, not a loss.
Thank you, Dipti! Your comment is as always a welcome sight and I love going through your thoughts as you read the poem!
Always grateful for the way your poems make thinking feel embodied, thank you for giving the body such honest language to stand in.
I read this a few times... it's like i was trying to memorize every word.
Beautiful work 👏🏻
Thank you, Mirage! I'm proud it sang to you! 🤗
I forgot there was ever a time before the flutter,
before I measured my heartbeat against yours
and called the arrhythmia chemistry
Love your choice!