The Butterflies of the Sensitive Kid

The day my butterflies left my stomach

I didn't even notice



They didn't leave all at once. It was pretty slow actually.

One by one they flew out, bid adieu to my heart on their way up, and delicately left me. They didn't even have to force my mouth open.

I don't blame them for leaving. That is, after all, what starving things tend to do.





Their absence wasn't noticed until the day I realized I no longer had any fear of speaking for a large crowed of people. The day I no longer had to worry about my hands being too slippery to play my flute and the first time I wore an over sized DI sweater to school.

The day I sat indifferently in an awards ceremony, not caring if they called my name or not. The day I did away with my filter.

The day I stopped feeling nervous when someone was going to kiss me.
The day I stopped feeling excited when someone was going to kiss me.

The day I didn't care if I won because I wouldn't care if I lost.






And I still don't know if it was a good thing or a bad thing when that last butterfly flew out of my stomach