The acrobat

Pacing on the border, 

I'm gazing at the sky, that's molding a cloud...

And standing in the eye of the storm,
I'm assuming how will this play out...

I am the storm, and the eye of it,
I am the lightning and the tree that has been hit.
I am the fire burning the desert's grass
And I am, the fuming ash.

I am the terrified villagers helplessly witnessing the avalanche rolling down.
And I am the fragile terrain, piling up, layers after layers of snow, which at the smallest movement, brakes, drowning the town.

De

De ce să vreau să fiu ca alții ?
De ce să vreau să scriu ca alții?
De ce să mă gândesc mereu că ar trebui să scriu despre altceva, că sunt penibilă?
De rușine.