rainstorms steep
like tea leaves in boiling water
the clouds growing fat on
electricity and water vapour until
they can no longer expand
and the fragrance explodes
amorphous and yet
harsh, driving shards of
H₂O through the warmth
of sweaters stuffed by
bodies nourished
by the rain not as
gentle as scented steam
from a cup of steeped leaves
but just as incensed

When we see dark clouds,
we think the storm is beautiful.
We sit in our homes
and listen to the rain
soaking into the ground.
We go outside
and dance.

Sometimes there is destruction.
Sometimes there is chaos.
But there is still rain
And with rain,
the flowers and trees
are able to grow.

They become stronger.
Resilient.
Beautiful.

Are not humans the same?
We see rainstorms and we see beauty.
Why is it that when we see
the storms of life,
we see only
destruction.
Only pain.

*Even though the storm is painful,
we grow like nature.
Strong.
Resilient.
Beautiful.

Beware of the girl who like rainstorms
The girl who’s thought are only
Quieted by the roll of thunder
The girl who find peace in
Deafening noise
The girls who’s eyes trap
lighting and keep it as her own.
The girl who laughs while
the heavens tremble
Beware of the girl who likes rainstorms
Because she feels at home in the storm
And find power in the chaos