You are in Liverpool, waiting on a sunny Sunday hoping for a chance of rain.
You are sitting, trembling, as a storm passes over you.
You are sitting in a formula E racing car and you feel excitement come over you.
You are ready to prance, when you smell roast being cooked.
You are the sound of a quiet elephant.
You are the colour of a steaming, red – hot tomato being tortured.
You are a poem screwed into a tight fist.
You are as angry as the Hulk.
You are as annoying as the impossibility of watery sand.
You are as hatred as demons ruining your life.