I’m full of gasoline.
The sparks flying from the flint in my mouth threaten to ignite the fumes.
I am a fiery dragon when transformed and I will burn your village to the ground and myself along with it.
For I am also a phoenix, and I will rise from the ashes of my own demise.
I care not for the pain of regrowth, although I spit and moan in the process.
When it is all said and done, I am stronger, more resilient, and will gladly take on another foe if challenged.
This dragon inside me does not seek to harm others, but to protect me.
I would rather die than go back to who I used to be.
And die to myself is what I do, repeatedly sharpening the edges of my existence.
My experience in this life, as a human, is not without purpose, for I am here to LIVE, to BREATHE, to EXPAND, to GROW.
How do you think my claws got so sharp? How hardened were my scales before life tried to find the chink in my armor? In truth, they were still moldable.
When life first pierced my heart, my scales were mere cartilage, unchallenged and soft.
But that was a long time ago.
