I am
the powerful voice of the past
gathering in a storm at the back of my throat
ready to belch out the present
which has been trapped in a flutter
on the tip of my tongue
I am
the ashy skin wrapped vagabond
never looked that
ready to lash out
just to fill my soul again
I am
the screaming child of innocence
left unattended
in the wastebaskets of a loveless home
I am
the wingless bird
still unafraid of flight
I am
all manners of life
I am I am Alive
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