Jack Frost
I throw my hands in the air I break free Flying high across the uncharted Seeing the unseen Writing the unwritten. Oh what joy, oh what wonder. The yet unspoken coming alive before my very eyes! My center taking shape, I see me. Jack! What is your center? Why is it scary to be a guardian? I never knew it would be this much of a struggle A war between my emotions and I. I suddenly try to speak objectively when all of me is subjective. I am a mess not knowing how to act when shown a little affection the exact replica of the finger I point at you. I am just a mirror of you. A mangled mess, beneath the shiny dross. Conspicuous and attractive, yet hollow. Is it about being seen, heard or approved? I am that Jack Frost Whom I have referenced but never seen. It is me, coming out of my skin Blossoming into this version of me It is no longer my version of events. It is me, finding my center. It no longer matters that no one sees. You sent me. You see. You validat...