Lighting strikes at the base of my roots.
It climbs up my limbs
Charring my flesh It bites into me
Chewing my nerves
Stabbing needles into my veins
I cannot move.
I am intertwined with this place.
I am bound here.
Lightning does not strike once.
It strikes again.
Again.
And again.
And every time, It is excruciating.

Be the Raindrops, that fall from above.
Bringing peace to Mother Earth.
Be the Clouds that hang in the Skies.
That shades Us right from Birth.
Think yourself, as the Morning Dew.
That brings green, to the Trees Around.
Be the Calm, that follows the Storm,
So the Water...Waves, without a Sound.
Smile like the Rainbow, After the Rains.
Let Sunrays, light up your Beautiful Soul.
Be that helping Hand, to those in need.
So Life....Loves U, on the Whole.

In the dark typhoon, swayed a dark dark house.
In the dark monsoon, flew the dark dark mouse.
Below dark dark clouds, people scream and shout,
And by the 12th hour, noon, is when the Sun comes out.

In the light, you see rubble, and the people all dead.
On a tree that had fallen, lies a small mouse head.
Through the wind left behind, you hear what the house said
As its boards were all torn from beneath its beds.

You hear the creaking and wailing of nails, screws, and springs
Which escape from their places, among other things.
They escape through the windows, and break their panes too,
And as the whistling fell silent,
All left now,
Is you.

The storm that once
overtook my soul ceases,
a soft zephyr taking its place.

I gaze above as the Sun
reaches its zenith;
away from all the chaos
I yearn to leave behind.

All that could be heard now,
were the echoes of blazing thunder,
blurred into the faded hums
of a lullaby I once cherished.

we meet at midnight (or maybe one) and you’re wearing the same
hoodie you’ve been wearing for three years. the wind nudges us
apart but somehow still you’re soft and smiling. i don’t have a
scarf. there’s a snowball down my shirt and then there’s
this noise ripped from me like i’m gasping and
laughing at the same time and it’s the
ugliest noise i’ve ever heard. i try
to chase you but you’re faster
and it’s okay because
you and i both
have such
terrible
aim.

we’re both just glad to be alone.

there
are beds
i’ll never lie in
ever again and that
is for the best. i remember
there was a time i’d wait for you
i’d sit and literally gaze out my window,
see kids on bikes and the sun passing by
but never you till i conned the moon into friendship
and she introduced us. i’d start arguments to hear you talk
but sometimes (and only sometimes) i would breathe and think,
i wanna fall asleep standing on this salted sidewalk and never wanna
wake up. sometimes you look away when my lips move like you can’t
hear. but i follow you. i teach you to paint and you teach me to dance.

it’s always the same. we get inside. you
hand me bread. we sit on the couch.
i skin my knees falling to the ground
just to hear you laugh. you shift and a
part of me wants to know the rhyme or
reason why but you roll your eyes when
i tell you poetry doesn’t need to rhyme
and i am a happy hypocrite. the bottle
is warm where your hand's been killing
it. it’s dead when i hand it back.

when i fall asleep your eyes are with me
and when i wake up you’re holding my
wrists. my skin is petrichor and yours is
smoke. suddenly there’s thunder bridging
the distance between the moon and sun,
matchflame and cumulonimbus clouds
and the carpet flips over as i pitch toward
the kitchen table. you’re photokeratitis
and i go blind. i make snow angels.
i need. i need to close my eyes.

you make me tea. i put my head in my hands.
my hair frizzes under lightning. there are no
blankets and no conversation. i pretend
to sleep on the floor and in two long hours
i’ve made friends with the spiders under
your bed. you haven’t met.

--

the alarm whispers. i pick myself off his floor. i steady myself.
i can’t look at him for too long, can't say goodbye. i glance.
his eyes are closed. there’s no way to wake him without
feeling like a wolf, or maybe a sheep. my wrinkled coat
is tangled in the rug. it's dawn. red eyes. if he was up
he would call me a mess. he's not. the sun drapes
over his sheets. i am freezing. my hand shakes
at the doorknob and i think, wrong, this
is the ugliest noise i have ever heard.
the bottle is on its side next to him.
it says nothing. i never opened
a door more slowly. i run
like there’s something
behind me. i lose a
minute when i sit
on the stairs. my
my eyes bleed. i
laugh. i told him
i hate love songs.
it's not like he
follows my
*******
spotify.

it’s always morning here
and always so quiet;
it doesn't let me say goodbye.
he's asleep but i’m alone and the air
is still. there are no stormclouds,
no suns
or snow or crescent moons.

the sky is
blue