I think I process so many thoughts,
That I’m so confused and scared of,
That I’m only tying my stomach in knots,
Instead of getting a single answer to dwell on.
You think it’s something that it’s not,
Just because I’m too afraid to tell you,
What it honestly is that I have fought,
So hard to hold back from telling you.
Could it be that I have possibly made myself sick,
Because thinking about you makes me entirely nervous?
I’m afraid that the words may just not form or click,
And when I go to explain them I will make it worse.
Because you make butterflies fly all around,
Inside where I feel them fluttering by.
And as you ask me one more time what is wrong,
I release again my cover lie and heavy sigh.