The cracks on my soul (poem)

I said you were a tempest of flame,

that daisies grew through your cracks:

Proclamations of your strength,

of the inherent power to succeed,

an undeniable worth to your being.

Yet I hide those words from myself,

let doubts and fears fill me,

feeling like a candle facing a hurricane,

ready to be extinguished,

wishing I could be a tempest of flame.

I see the cracks on my soul,

the scars and failures of my past,

and see a barren broken surface,

where nothing could grow out of,

my soul broken and made of stone.

Stop and listen to the cackle of the flames,

and hear the voice calling out to me

in the moments before they engulf me,

stretching across my body turning stone to soil,

planting seeds in a tempest of flame.

-Zero