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.