I laugh at myself.
For I have this way of expressing myself.

Where I bite my tongue, I find the confidence in what HAS been said. Leaving well enough, alone. Silence can be golden.

When I do speak, I can bite. There is a certain group of things, dear to my heart, that I will drop a face of ferocity for. Emotional intensity is my weapon, and I demand the floor. I love myself for these moments; I stand strong.

With the soul of a rebel, and the heart of a healer; there is sure to be opposite actions. I can sit quite saintly, with a mind full of thoughts you may never know. So long as you do not look me in the eyes, and demand pity rather than a connection … I am by my own wind. Time will heal those wounds.

Sometimes my soul does speak with strength, and without premeditation. Raise my stinger, and shoot my guff. My points are sharp, and to the bone. Ignite my fire, through the passions of my soul.

The balance between a rabbit and a scorpion:
One does hop;
Breaks their heart for fear of pain…
Other does scurry;
Slays a prey to shield their kin.