I am a firecracker of a girl, 

and one with a short fuse. 

It's not that I enjoy being short-tempered,

or that I take pride in my anger.

On the contrary,

I wish I could turn soft and lovely

like a raindrop.

I've always been a little envious of the clouds

for the way they hang around so effortlessly,

lazy and beautiful 

and a home for everyone's secrets.

No, I am a firecracker

and I burst quite often. 

No one cares to stop it

I wonder if they're somehow entertained 

by my inability to cope.

Maybe I'm so explosive 

because really, 

on the inside I am a nervous being,

shaking and frantic

waiting for a reason to panic again.

In the meantime, I wait, I seethe, I wonder.