Thunder cracks overhead,
And I'm playing happy music as loud as I can
Or else my dog will bark loudly and continuously until she barks herself to sleep.

And my hands are shaking slightly,
There's a reason I hate storms
And rain
And thunder.
I used to love it
And find peace in it.

But every time the thunder cracks
And I see the lightening behind the blinds
And the rain splatting across the windows,
I feel sick and scared and small.

If I pretend it's not there
I'll be okay
But I keep going back and back and back.

I'm in the back of my closet,
I'm ten years old
And mom's not okay
And where do we go
From here?
And the rain won't stop
The thunder won't stop,
Just me and my dog
Comforting me.

But now
I'm on the catwalk and suddenly
I'm destroyed and suffocated/suffocating
And my screams aren't loud enough
To pierce the thunder
And fall below
Because no one wanted to see
Just how bad it was.
And when it was over,
I found no comfort in the drops of rain
Hitting the roof like bullets,
No comfort in the crack of lightning
And the roar of the thunder.

My wish for finding meaning in a storm
Was swiftly and seemingly endlessly twisted
And contorted
Into a complete fear
Of any spontaneity I once had
And any sense of adventure
That was once mine.

And my dog barks at the thunder
As it tears open the sky,
And I flinch at the sound,
Hiding in a sweatshirt that isn't mine.

And I can't shake it,
But there's got to be something better
Than being afraid of rain.

And I'm hoping the storm passes
With ease.