I think a lot about the things you do to me.
I think about how I look into your eyes and I can't remember if anything has ever upset me in my life,
because that doesnt matter anymore.I think about how when you hug me it's never long enough,
because you hold me together like you already know I'm crumbling.I think about how when you run your hands up my sides it's gentle,
-like I'm made of feathers-
and how it makes my heart flutter every time.I think about when you hold my hand,
and how the calluses on your fingertips feel like home.I think about how you look at me as if you've never seen someone so perfect,
and how that simple glance makes me believe
-if only for a moment-
that I really am that perfect.I think about how you tease me like I'm your best friend,
and how it makes me feel like I never want you to leave.I think about the way you smile,
and how it makes me feel tipsy but in a good way.
In a way that makes me never want to drink,
because nothing could compare to that feeling.I think about the way you've changed who I am,
and how you've replaced the ugly things with butterflies.I think about the first time you kissed me,
and you kissed me so hard I forgot poems were made of words rather than people.
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Butterflies come flying out [poetry]
PoetryThe words of a teenage girl with too many emotions and no other form of catharsis.