Won't. Stop. Going.

Won't. Stop. Going.

I am,
The constant hum of the fan;
barely audible, but extremely irritable.
The car going 60 mph without breaking
Or the waves of the ocean, bringing in new smells.
One of the rare shooting stars, unpredictable.
I am the world, saturated with ideas diverse as cotton candy and war.
The bouncy ball, going in every which direction
Or the rings of a tree trunk, with too many layers too count.
I am an activist, refusing to back down
until progress is made.
I'm the 2-year old child, who makes her presence known
I'm far from perfect, but that's what makes me, me.