Stormy, they always say I’m stormy. When the clouds mount
in their slate colored suits and blot out the Sun I know the Moon will chase me
and I giggle like a mischievous child. I am alive. I will live, and I will laugh.
I don’t fear the darkness, as much as I fear that I will someday become
the shrieking opposite of Joy. Not fearful of tears; not fearful of swimming
the depths. It is just that I don’t want the box to become too small
nor the colors so permanent that they will not flow. You understand?
Do you know me? I don’t care if you do. I am content in my temperamental gaseous state
and I want the wolves to howl at the mention of my name.