A-Z poetry and thoughts

I will not run towards the butterflies

Whose wings flutter in the wind

For I have met these creatures before

And what they bring

is not a gentle breeze

But a thunderstorm

I will not leap into the arms

Of person who makes my heart skip

This thudding in my little chest

That grows louder by the second

It is not a song or melody

But a warning drum

Screaming "BG, run"