stôrm/
                     a violent disturbance of the atmosphere.
                                                     ­    of my atmosphere

You are the only one I lived through.
- In a sense of comfort and survival.

They warned me about you.
They told me to pack my things while I was young and had time.
They told me to pack light because I would need what energy I had left.
                                        
                       ­                          THEY TOLD ME.
 
but I believed you would be gentle. I knew I had done just the right amount of observing and that I  had   you figured out. I told them not to worry about me because I knew exactly what I was dealing with. I told them I would love you, no matter the damage. "There is nothing that cannot be fixed."

And to this day I'm still holding onto that, trying to believe it.
This home I spent 22 years building and securing, is now one with the ground.
My walls that I finally found the perfect shade of teal for, all red now.
Standing in the middle of this ruin, no windows, no door, nowhere to hide.
I have fallen into *disrepair and you meant to do it. It's in your nature and I knew it!
Was it confidence or ignorance that led to my unseeing belief in you?
                                                      (your ability to be tender and serene)

"The calm after the storm..." Is that what I was supposed to hope for?
No, of course not. I should have known better than that because we all know

Storms never do last forever.

**© 2014 Rhea Nadia

I no longer try to impress
I digress
Hoping that what is left unspoken highlights significance

You could be completely faithless
I'd like to think there's some reason for my presence
You're far more simple than me
I foolishly try to win your appease
Even though I know you wish I'd praise on my knees

Your ego leaves you thinking you are godly
To me you reek of voluminous folly
I am left begging for acquiescence

Communications fail and lessen to flattery and Superficiality
I want you to love me

Though I cant be sure on my own behalf I'd implore the same
It doesn't feel like a game though I expect I am being played

I wont falter to your narcissistic ways
We fight until the passion leaves us in a haze
It makes me feel alive when I oppose you and gain such a stance
It beats watching the latest televised programs

If it came down to you or I
I'd surely die to save your life
That has to mean something

We spoke in tongues that day,
Your fingers trailed my body like
a harlot skimming through the bible finding her daily grace.

The Sun, her majesty, jealous of the
nervous heat that fought for a moment of breath between your satin body and my scarred chest.

Did you know that I almost cried?
Because your touch was everything I feared the most.
Your touch was confidence, maybe love.
It hurt.

We don't speak the same language anymore,
For your fingers,
are too holy for mine.

Two choices lie ahead,
None lies behind.
Even though i want to,
I cant run and hide.

Little voices beckon me,
From both the unknown paths.
Who should I listen to,
When both capture my heart?

With a little excitement,
And fear of change,
I make my choice and move ahead,
Without so much as a cringe.

Today I close my eyes,
And wonder what would have been,
If i had chosen the path,
That still remains unseen.

Then with a smile I tell myself,
This question has to end.
And with that smile I move on,
To wherever life has to send.

I sing along to the radio
tapping at the gas pedal,
as you finger-paint murals
on the foggy windows.