There is more to me than my madness,
And if that is all you choose to see,
Then you are dismissing the bud,
before its begun to flower,
You are passing up the sweet fruit nectar,
because its tough shell is not yet peeled,
You are missing out on the beauty of the moon,
Because it is not yet full and dreamy enough for you.
I am more than rage and silence,
The two extremes at war inside of me,
I am more than light and darkness,
And every bland shade of grey in between,
I can see stars when others can’t see past the clouds,
My sensitive eyes spring tears at beauty,
Not because it dazzles,
But because I am humbled and honoured,
To have witnessed it’s fleeting glory,
When it will soon be gone.
I am not the whirlwind of destruction and sadness,
And compulsion and confusion and fear,
That I once was.
I am warmth, and I am kindness,
I am laughter and I am creation,
My voice is more lullaby than shout,
I am stronger and braver than I have ever known myself to be,
And if my openness is weakness to you,
Then we will never dance on the same page.