This is to say that Storm Clouds
Are the accumulation of water in the air,
That Hate is the buildup of prejudice and fear,
That Change is when humans grow tired
Of hearing the rain fall on deaf ears,
Watching people with umbrellas wondering
Why those without are getting wet.
This is to call upon Love,
The accumulation of Compassion,
Encourager of Empathy,
The feeling of sunshine when you smile at me.
Hope is the keeper of faith,
Knowledge that tomorrow isn't always the same,
That even in the dark months, sunlight is inevitable,
And eventually we all reach the end of the tunnel,
Hope knows sometimes Change has to Rain down
Upon the lands of dry grass and wildfires,
That floods are a risk when the dirt has lost its purpose,
But new foliage grows where the ground once cried out,
So we may one day sustain ourselves on the land
We thought could never bear more life,
The world we thought could never Change.

I am not the girl you made me.
I am the woman who grew out of the decay,
The dirt and soot and open grave
You once attempted to shove me into.
I am not the girl who shook like a child,
Clutched her teddy bear after you ***** her.
I am the woman with the sword
You once wedged under the mattress.
It's mine now, along with my dignity.
I will cut you when you dare enter my nightmares.
I am a woman now.
And you're just a man on a long list of men
Who never get to touch my life anymore.
I am THE woman now,
And you're just small.

I am touched every night
By the darkness,
The twisted, pale fantasies of an unconscious mind.
I am always the great protector,
Trying to save them from the evil he inflicted upon me.
It never works.
How cruel is it that I can remove him from everywhere
But my mind?

I want so badly to be me enough
That it doesn't matter how crazy I am.

In a world full of deadlines and assignments,
I often wonder if I am getting credit for my life.
Did I pass the exam because I didn't want to die today?
Am I succeeding for inhabiting a level state of consciousness?
Will I be penalized for the fatigue or the anxious habits,
The inevitable compulsions?
Do they see below my skin where the turmoil lays?
Are my bones enough to hold me up under the weight
Of my perfectionism and pressure for success?
Am I too slow or different in a world that demands I exist in a system?
Am I enough in the course of Planet Earth?
Is who I am what they want,
And does it matter?
Is there extra credit for taking a shower and complying with medication?
Professor, did I achieve an A?

My heartbeat trips over its own feet,
Running as if towards the greatest surprise
And simultaneously from the end of the world.

"It's just a thought."
"It's just an image."
But still I make the demanded pilgrimage.
A triple lock.
A double check,
Compulsive look under the bed.
Oh, how strange!
Silly me!
Yet, I go.
I must repeat.
Therapist says I have OCD.