I, woman.

I am an amalgamation of disappointments and forgiveness and explanations and tomfoolery.
I am graphite and I’m sapphire
I ain’t breaking down, I am a jubilation of life
I have eyes, heart, soul and hands,
Then why can I not garner feelings, preach them and celebrate them,
Why can I not crash and burn?
I ain’t flying, I’m pushing the winds backwards,
No tears, no rain
No fairytale, no tragic ends.
I am driven with uncertainty most certainly,
Why doesn’t my time rotate in circles around me?
I am an empty space and I am a gathering,
I am wasted and I am alive,
But what brings me here?
I am a storm, I am a grenade,
I am an Idea, the idea that forges the existence of my insanity.
I am not dead, I breathe smoke.
I am a rehabilitation, I am a source.
I am independently chained to the monster that feed me, and feed on

me.
I am a silent cry, I am a woman.