The world was full of light,
But it didn't understand her,
And she didn't get it either,
So she became the storms
The thunderclouds
The lighting and the fire
She became the night
The velveteen blackness
And the unknown
She became the dreary
The gray
The worn
She became the crows
The scavengers and petty thieves
The witches and the branches twisted
She became the dust, the rust
The vagabonds
The other us
She became the roaches
She became the mud
She became the things unseen
When we walk the path that's painted clean
I wrote this a few months back.
Oh, darling, you have so much farther to go, and in a little time, those storms won't seem so dark. Or at least not so ominous. They are powerful and real. Be not afraid.