I am me,
my past tugging,
ugly,
assuring my gaze.
My future splintered,
haphazard, lifeless.
Trying to stretch out in front of me,
but retracted to the gaze of the past too.
Scary and safe;
Juxtaposed.
But I am me, and I own my words,
They give flavour to how we remember. What we believe.
The truth, our truth.
Our truth made up of the flavour of words we put to it.
So I am me.
The sun rises,
The clouds move,
The rain falls,
The sun rises again.
I rise,
I move,
I fall,
I rise again.
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