when the dust kisses the earth again

I am the heir to a throne of depression

masked in a legacy of passive aggression. 

The granddaughter of humor as an antidote for feeling. The keeper of assumptions and petty cash. 

But they missed the other bloodline. The one that runs parallel to the narrows of pain and suffering. 

That taught me compassion and digging hard fingernails into soft dirt. Taught me "do" and "go" and "be."

The presence of a lightly worn crown made of dirt and rocks and mud and the water that tadpoles swim in. 

I get to choose.