Everyone says that you're so bright, so loud, so much and maybe you are or maybe you're covering up that gaping wound in your chest with fireworks. Or maybe you really are so bright so warm so hot but sometimes you wonder if anything will ever be enough to soothe that aching burning cold fire in your chest. You don't know what it is, can't ever let yourself close enough to that pyre to know if it's anger or fear or loneliness or grief but it's there and if you're good enough, funny enough, bold enough, maybe you can hide it from everyone else. Maybe there's enough of you and enough of the world that you can outrun it forever, your own fire bright enough to put that wound to shame. Bright enough to prove to everyone, anyone, yourself, your mother, your father, your friends, your classmates, the world, that you're enough. You're enough. You're enough.
You grew up too fast and all you know is the calluses on your fists and the thousand invisible scars that you pretend don't ache. Your anger burns so bright, so hot or maybe not at all, so deep you could never tell it was there. You are yours and you will defend that to the death after so many years of being ripped apart and denied your own agency and maybe you are still facing the bastards who stole your innocence but you will survive because that's the only thing you know how to do without breaking, the only thing you know besides protect, protect, protect, protect, yourself or sometimes those few others you claim as yours. You are a thousand sharp edges but impenetrable, a traumatized child so covered by thorny armor that you promised yourself you're grown now, you're stronger than anyone who has ever hurt you. You're safe. Nothing will ever hurt you again. You're so alone though sometimes, in a world that sees you as too much or too broken or too angry or too hurt, and you want to scream with the too-much of it, prove that you're okay, that you're self-reliant, that you are strong enough to stake your claim on your body, on your mind, on your heart, on your people, and protect it from any who dare take it away from you. You are the sea in tempest, a howling sky, a tsunami in motion, a force of nature, no matter how much you sometimes yearn to be still, to be safe, to be small. You are a dandelion, stubborn and determined to grow in the rockiest of soil, and bloom again in spring.
