I am the storm that lost its own rhythm,
laughter flaring, then burning to silence.
Your imperfections swagger,
and scars that tell unerasable stories.
Some days I am a solid stream, unbendable,
other days, a forest fire — wild, unrelenting.
I falter, I burn too bright,
but each autumn leaves a truth inside me.
If you read me in bits and pieces, raw...
Continue reading...