Rallying Cry

I am a raging bull.

I am a machine gun.

I am one-track, single-mind, on-fire, watch-your-back, ready-or-not, determined.

Some days I run like fear is a fire and its flames are licking my heels.

Other days, I walk on water, my steps as light as breath, confident in the here and now.

No matter what day, I find myself between page after page of words.

I want to move like a run-on sentence, awe-inspiring with tiny flares of voice, cadence, and precision cracking their syllabic whips across the page until the language breaks open.