There is in me:
A hatchling that left its nest too early,
A juvenile angry at the world it lives in,
A creature that refuses to be tamed that I hold so dearly,
And always crouched in the shadows, its twin.
Sometimes, you can hear its rustle before it leaps for the attack
Oftentimes it’s too quickly over, and I pray for it to never come back.


I call this beast “I”.
I have clawed through walls I didn’t even know were there.
I have done things I thought I couldn’t dare.
I have cut off threads I thought were unbreakable.
I have deemed love and me incompatible.


There is in me a cacophony of all the voices I’ve ever heard,
A stillness punctuated by echoes of the absurd,
A void where words should be,
And periods to end every possible eternity.
There is in me an illusion of calmness and grace,
After all, there is stillness in the wild, but only on the surface.

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