I am blue.
Of all colors I could be, I am mellow and calm like the deep abyss of the enigma of the ocean.
Yet, the ocean is also rough and agitated, brutal and passionate like the hands of God.
The ocean cannot be tamed by another force, only by itself.
I am an owl with eyes as wide as the moon that see the things they are not supposed to see.
I am condemned to a life of silent flying.
At least my hoots can be heard by those who want to listen.
I move like a gypsy, clashing my tambourine in a wild attempt to explain my story.
My body moves in twists and turns, bending my muscles and bones beyond the limits of the universe.
My dance is filled with a tale unlike any other.
My sound is the wind, softly moving through the bare, winter trees.
I howl among the rocks and fill the skies with my lonely words, moving the clouds along the blue canvas.
I represent 13, a number some see as unlucky.
My black heart plagues those who fear my wrath.
My soul flickers within a single candle flame, dancing and flying with the burning wick.
I smell like firewood.
The smoky haze of the wood fog consumes my being until I am the fire.
I am a dream; a blur of purples, greens and blues, sometimes black.
My dream is not happy, yet it is entirely normal, at least for me.
I dream of nymphs and angels, of dragons and demons.
Ash covers my cobblestone walk ways in my unconscious state, cloaking my path.
The world behind my eyes is one that is often misinterpreted.
Dark lands and light beams, singing and crying, crows and doves; everything of dreams and nightmares.
This is my world; a combination of opposite sides.
My name is Victoria like a battle consumed in blood.
I am victory.