The butterflies are performing a Native American dance in my stomach. One with lots of stomping and twisting.
Go away.
Go away.
Go away.
Flutter off to someone else.
Stop making me feel like I'm about to release my dinner in the toilet.
Stop messing with my mind.
I want my butterflies to go join a circus in someone else's stomach.
YOU ARE READING
Book of Poetry
PoetryMy feelings are written So I may find peace I hope you relate To these words as you read
