I am much more beneath this skin
beneath this pretense of adapted liking
I am much more than my face, you know
Look into my soul and your doubts will go.
I am a conflagrant mess of my own making
and there’s art in that, if you’re willing to take in.
I am the effulgence that gently diffuses
into dark rooms and whispers muses.
I am the wailing wind that whirls
to hug the lonely heart as it furls.
I am a mountain that stands tall with pride
to knock off those, who question my might.