Spark

It's there!

I can feel it!

In my fingers, each little finger

Alive with a light, a bright warm light

Internally.

What is this feeling?

This feeling

Of light, soft light, gentle light, a strength I never knew...

What is it?

Light. Or

Loss. Or

Fire?

A spark.

A spark in my fingertips, running up my arms, a spark in my core. In my heart. In my heart. In my heart

A fire is kindling.

I don't understand it

But I can't quash it

Because it's there

In my fingertips

Running up my arms

Glowing at my core

Mumbling sleepy nothings as it stretches its arms and wakes.

This power.

This spark.

When I was little I dreamed of Superheroes. Not the cape and spandex type, but the type that wear glasses. Skirts. Tight constrictions. Contradictions. Those brave strong women, using their internal strength to build a better more understanding world. Sparks. Superheroes. Fighting for what was right, even if the law deemed it wrong. They new the grey of the matter. They knew where they stood. They fought for all of us.

But.

Do I have it? What it takes

To be that strong

To use my power in the thick grey of things

I need to be sure. Assured.

In my beliefs.

But I'm not. I'm grey. Obscured. A fog.

I'm a teenager caught mid rebellion, halfway between anarchist and dictator. Trying to shape the world to a half made blueprint under constant erasure and revision. It might not even be blue. Or green. Or pink. Grey. I don't know where I stand, or when, or how. My body keeps changing, my mind keeps trying to keep pace. Somedays I feel like I've got it all sorted out. Then I wake up, the mist clears, and realize it was all a dream.

Did they feel this way? My superheroes. Those sparks. Those strong brave women. Growing up in a world that wasn't ready to change.

They were the catalysts, the reactants, the products of a world that was and would be.

They had the power.

Were they sure?

Did they doubt?

Now I have the power. And I

Doubt.

But I

Can use it

Like them

To help everyone.