When I speak, I speak in many tones, all forged into one voice. I was born by the environment, nursing me with apples. I was raised by the wolves, learning to fight and defend my spine. I am living in the water, drowning in freedom. I am raising in the jungle, stringed together with vines to every consequence, all hanging over my head. I am killed by the winter, with the cold temperature weathering me down. I am conceived again in april, when it rains too often. I am born again in the may, when I am ready to bloom, only waiting to find my motivation and significance. I forget it all and start again, the divine cycle, pissing off mother nature.