Me, the difficult one. Given that title at birth or maybe I earned it. Either way, I own it. You’re welcome. I am unapologetic about me because the dirty paths have taught me not to be sorry for who I am. So I’m not. Maybe that sounds cold, but who are you to judge the temperature of my heart if you’ve never offered your own to warm these rigid bones? This ever so complicated puzzle of me; it’s only for the ones much deeper than language written on the skin. Bring me the one who’s not afraid to rip me open, take my heart out, listen closely to what the butterflies say, and turn it into poetry; I dare you to love me like that.