My first ever boyfriend turned into my first ever ex real quick.
I remember his touch, his kisses, his words would infest my stomach with butterflies:
the unsteady feeling that leaves you warm and tingly inside almost addictive, sweet, something like a drug – something like love.
His presence attacked my organs… relentlessly.
My love, Okan mi (my heart), my ex.
Alas the butterflies dropped dead.
Settling at the pits of my stomach, I grew ill and uneasy at his touch, his kisses, his words.
The swarms of butterflies became something like a poison – something bitter to my tongue, corrosive at the touch.
He took my breath away
…I mean I apologize those God – damn butterflies dropping to the pits of my stomach like a victim to the concrete who has just been shot or just stabbed in the back or the stomach.
I cant tell you the difference between either but… deceased butterflies spill out my sides like an open wound
and help me!
I need at least a bandage to stop the loss
But they are all gone now
and I’m left with a butterfly sized scar to remind me
