The storm outside is little comfort.
It rattles my windows and pounds my roof.
The walls creak with exhaustion.
I am not relieved.
I thought such rain and wind
Might make these four walls
More comforting than they are confining.
To no avail.
I am as caged as ever.
And I'm not singing.

I think I'd like to be outside,
Amidst the disaster.
Maybe it would make me feel more whole.
The way so much destruction can make you feel small,
But in a good way.
The way the uncontrollable can make you feel secure.
Because you, at least, are grounded.
But then,
What if I don't want to be grounded?
I think I'd like to soar.

The storm outside is little comfort.
Because the storm inside is still far more distracting.
I'm enveloped by it and swept away.
Until,
I lift my head and see these four walls.
But I am not relieved.
My own disaster spills across the floor and,
Is contained.
I am as caged as ever.
And I am not singing.