I know something courses through my veins

I know something is in me; a drum, a whip, a whisk

I do not know if my veins are filled with blood or rain or fire or pain

I'm not sure of what I can take, except for risks

I may not be a bonfire, a typhoon, or a vortex of immesurable magnitude

But I smoulder because there is fuel to burn, my winds bend but do not break me, and my emptiness is a sign that I can be filled

Because I am strength



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