Ridges to My Edges

I seem to have a way about myself.

I've always been more do-er; les sayer.

I sometimes am soft, but most times solid. 

I touch things hard then hendle them gently.

There is always been a certain amount of ruckus in my soul...

I stomp hard...

                jump down abruptly.

My brain is speratic... 

                 fixating... easily focused; all while quick and expansive always thursty to know the inner workings of another something.

Rowdy like a boy child. 

But with a fools heart. 

A love born daughter with sturdy legs and excitement in my bones. 

A heaving chest coupled with quick feet... 

               quicker temper ... 

                                 the quickest tounge. 

Sharp wit... sharp intellect... sharper edges.

Small in stature, but big in spirit... 

              I find myself described as CRASS at times... 

But I'm full and  I'm warm...

                and my hands are healing. 

This walking contradiction I could never seem to balance. 

These depths so deep I could never seem to reach the bottom. 

                  ***ing Mariana trench dug down in the middle of my soul. 

Jagged stones potruding out of charisma and heart.

Waves crashing wildly upon a beach of kindness, understanding, rage, aggression, and the God that I cant help but see in everything.

No bare feet...

Dont forget your diving suit...

Theres always been sharp ridges to my edges.