a.) Ok. I feel like I've always had a tornado inside of me. You have it inside of you. Just sometimes it doesn't move. I sort of bloom
late, but I know it's still there. It still twitches. I'm still flinching. I'm hiding in the basement. Trying to keep my head down. Trying not to
get shocked. Trying to keep the windows boarded up. Trying to find the words that need a home too, and that home might be you.
While that storm stays eating at the front door of my mind. Out here stranded between home and where I live. Waiting for the sun to
peak in like a killer. Until I can know the coast is clearer. If [bad word] from the sky and it's bad: It must be God. It must be mad. Like it
changed its mind. Said never mind. So I told myself that if I quit moving I died. So I started it spinning and spinning around.

b.) But you were alive on that day in this town in this state, and you were younger and not as sure as you are now, but you were alive
in every way. But we couldn't say that we'd ever find it again. So I put a mark on my heart for myself and all my friends. So we can find
it again. Holding up your families. Holding up houses. Holding down jobs, and tears. I hope you never again have to use people and
each other like washers (tightening the screws), but you were there for each other. Didn't leave. Didn't give up. And there's a kind of
unfortunate peace you have that no one can take away. And the pictures prove that you used to live so take more. And even if you
don't know what love is try and be all of it. And build an army, an army of peace. We are homeless in our house. There are no guarantees.
Even in our houses we are homeless. There are no guarantees.