so maybe we are not all we’re cracked up to be. maybe we’ve less to be proud of than expected. maybe they’ll think we’re less fire and all ashes.
so what. I care nothing for it. the odds are inconsequential; the fight will continue without regard. remember this: I refuse to be the ashes. we are burned but in no way broken. and if we are not fire— then we are flint. tinder. spark. flame.
we work our way to becoming bonfire.
tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow.
(the past few days have not been very kind to me, so this is another old poem. please burn for me, but in a good way.)