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Butterflies want to be free

White knuckles.

Tight grip.

Holding so tight in my throat, in my chest, in my jaw.

Hold on a little tighter, grasp a little further, think a little harder.

Keep it all straight, it will all work out.

Butterflies in my stomach, but they want to be free.

Awareness comes first.

Throat chest jaw tired from white knuckling.

The door of willingness opens just a crack,

Letting the light of hope in.

Light shining on the mess,

Doubt threatens to slam shut the door again.

Butterflies in my stomach, they want to be free.


Breathe again. And again.

Notice my throat. Fill my chest. Relax my jaw.

Surrender to what is in this moment.

Release the constant thought to what is in this moment.

Permission to be human and messy in this moment.

Butterflies free to be free.

For a moment.

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