I come from a family where everything is painted porcelain, distilled water, and glazed chrome. Clean cut, no rough edges, everything polished, sharpened. Planned. So why do I feel the need to grasp at this gilded success perfectly folded and laid out for my use just to squeeze the life and opportunity from it until it drips from my fingertips and washes away in my storms all in an attempt to find myself? I am not my parents. I am not my friends. I am a storm. Do not force me to release rays of light and sunshine when all I contain are bolts of lightning and thunderclouds. I am not the princess--I am the fire-breathing dragon bringing destruction to the kingdom. I am the villain, not the hero. Yet, people hate me. A storm is lonely. I am lonely. Nobody wants to watch me work, yet although I destroy things I can still create beauty. For a rainbow cannot overpower a storm but people hide from my thunder and shudder at my strength but praise the weak colors in the sky for their beauty. Why does nobody smile at my rain and dance to the beat of my thunderous drum? Why does nobody drench themselves in my dangerous tears and whistle with my wind carrying away leaves and sticks and stirring up messes? Why does nobody appreciate that my chaos is beautiful too? People are fearful of change. People are terrified of anything that makes them think, that changes their perception. Stir up chaos within yourself. Your storms are more beautiful than your counterfeit smiles. Reality is not made of fantastical sunny days and puffy white clouds made of marshmallows. Pain is just as beautiful as laughter. Do not let anyone shame your thunder or scowl at your lightning--and if they do--drown them with your rain until their lungs overflow and they cannot speak to criticize your beauty anymore.