I am. (Updated Version)

“What are you?”

They ask me, what am I.

I am wanderlust–

Encompassing a gypsy heart,

Coveting to swallow the world

In the stars of my glittering eyes

“Who are you?” echoes their questioning gaze

Who am I, they ponder.

I am insanity–

There is no lie to the chaos I court

In the depths of my skin;

My bursting veins must find a vent

At my pen,

Filling the papers with the breaths

Of my beating heart

“Where do I come from?”

I can feel the enquiry in their lingering concerns.

I am a storm–

A vortex of raging winds,

Hidden ‘neath a calm demeanour;

Leaving my illicit fragrance

Within the spumes of waves

In my wake of destruction

I am sorry. I am sorry that I don’t fit into their mediocrity

My maverick soul is a secret garden with barbarian flowers

I house untamed tides and rapturous falls

My bohemian spirit drifts in the arid deserts

It nurtures blossoms–all ready to prosper

I was born out of the stars

With stardust on my fingertips

Giving birth to moon flowers

I shine in the darkest of nights