Misfits that we are,

Me with my rough edges, scathe and scabs.

Silken at times, at times all proud and uppity.

Floating about, walking at times, sometimes crawling.   

Bawling like a babe, silent as  a stone.

Smoldering words, sometimes pristine gold.

You as a mountain, all lush with life,

Perseverance till the brim.

You nourish me,

Edges flushed.

Misfits that we were.