I have never felt such a passion for a person like it is described in the countless books I read.
I wonder sometimes if I am even capable of feeling it.
But then I dance fiercely, sing loudly, and write tirelessly.
My passion sits on my chest and clutches my throat.
It's not gentle and warm.
It's fire and anger and determination.
To be consumed by a want that becomes a need.
I see passion in myself when I walk onstage and feel the energy that I give out through my performance, and though I am always exhausted afterwards and feel as though there is nothing else to offer to the world, it's peaceful.
YOU ARE READING
The Book of Healing
PoetryShe's not okay, but writing it down helps. - Part I: It's time to rip off the band-aid. Poems: slam, traditional, free-verse. The first twenty are not up to par with the others, but this is an ongoing journey so I feel the need to include them...
