This Is Me

At times,

in the moment I am found,

I vanish.

And when I wander,

I stumble upon myself again.

There are days

I rise from ruins—

blooming in the cracks.

And days

my blossoms tremble,

and shatter from within.

At times,

in the moment I am found,

I vanish.

And when I wander,

I stumble upon myself again.

There are days

I rise from ruins—

blooming in the cracks.

And days

my blossoms tremble,

and shatter from within.

When I step into the light,

shadows embrace me.

And in the dark,

a sudden clarity reveals who I am.

Joy arrives—

and I fall into sorrow.

But in the heart of grief,

a soft joy stirs,

like a whisper in the silence.

I glow,

only to dim—

turning into the moon.

I dim,

only to burn—

becoming the sun.

Sometimes,

I am a wasteland—

dry, fierce, and wild.

Sometimes,

I am a forest—

green, generous, and alive.

This is me.

At times—

only sometimes—

as I begin to rest,

a storm rises within.

And when I roar,

I return to calm—

a wave so gentle,

it forgets it was ever a sea.