The Poetry Journal Of a 16 year old Girl

Running

I've got butterflies in my stomach

That are tumbling and twirling

Their wings send my insides a twist

With every unfurling

They try to tear their way out

As I stare into space

Waiting to be anywhere but

Here, in this gosh aweful place

Then the gunshot sounds

And the butterflies soar free

We're racing together

Like the winners we will be

Prerace

The clock is taunting me

It teases me

I could be out there, 

But no,

I'm stuck at a desk

I've got 2 minutes less

Than 3/4ths of an hour

Before I can leave

And my stomachs going sour