Not a painting for you to critic
Not an artwork to examine
Not a dancer for you to judge
But,
The calm before the storm
And the storm in all its works,
The hail.
The rain.
The thunder.
The lightning.
I am the wrekcage of the storm
In all its disaster
The destruction
The chaos
But,
I am the flourishing afterwards
The trees.
The water.
The blooms.
The life.
I am me.
In all my chaos.
With all my works.
A force
To be reckoned with.