There is a storm in me
that chews through the hours -
a red, electric snarl
that won't stay leashed.
It claws up my spine,
a creature made of all the things
I never said aloud.
It wants the world to burn clean,
to strip the air of its pretending,
to turn every soft lie
into ash.
I tear at the daylight
just to feel its pulse stutter.
The sky recoils -
rightly so.
Even the sunlight flinches
when my thoughts flare hot enough
to blister thier own shadows.
Inside the self splits:
one part begging for calm
the other sharpened to a blade
by years of swallowing
what should have been screamed.
And yet in the wreckage
I call a twisted heartbeat,
something stubborn rises -
not hope, but a low bitter ember
refusing to die.
I stand in the ruins of myself,
breathing hard,
while the furious glow inside me
leans forward, unblinking -
a reminder that some storms
do not pass;
they learn your name
and stay.
Dec 11, 2025
Dec 11, 2025 at 7:36 AM UTC
There is a storm in me
that chews through the hours -
a red, electric snarl
that won't stay leashed.
It claws up my spine,
a creature made of all the things
I never said aloud.
It wants the world to burn clean,
to strip the air of its pretending,
to turn every soft lie
into ash.
I tear at the daylight
just to feel its pulse stutter.
The sky recoils -
rightly so.
Even the sunlight flinches
when my thoughts flare hot enough
to blister thier own shadows.
Inside the self splits:
one part begging for calm
the other sharpened to a blade
by years of swallowing
what should have been screamed.
And yet in the wreckage
I call a twisted heartbeat,
something stubborn rises -
not hope, but a low bitter ember
refusing to die.
I stand in the ruins of myself,
breathing hard,
while the furious glow inside me
leans forward, unblinking -
a reminder that some storms
do not pass;
they learn your name
and stay.
Request permission to use this poem