Roar

I am not a graceful person. I am not a Sunday morning or a Friday sunset. 

 My bones crack on a nightly basis. 

I fall from elegance with a dull thud, and I apologize for my awkward sadness.

 I sometimes believe that I don't belong around people, that I belong to all the leap days that didn't happen. 

The way light and darkness mix under my skin has become a storm. You don't see the lightning, but you hear the echoes.