Quiet Rebellion

There is a fire in the fold, a grace in the strange
I am ink on the page that refuses to change
My heart beats to pulse that I wear on my sleeve
I only tell stories that I want to believe
I'm a bird made of paper, a boat made of breath
I'm dancing on the edge of a beautiful depth
Don't ask for the sun, don't ask for the shore
I've opened a lock on an invisible door
Let the rhythm be wide and the logic be thin
I'm living in the spaces where the secrets begin