There's no promise of love,
I was lucky to find it.
Nothing says there will be someone there,
For you to hold or be held by,
When the storm rolls in.
A very few get to know,
Just how it feels,
To embrace your lover.
Carefully placing your hand on their face,
Love isn't promised,
Possibly it may never come,
So I am lucky to have it now.

My girl is made from fire and stardust.
She feels like a child of the wind and the rain,
Her wrath—an unprecedented hurricane.
But love her, speak sweet words to her,
And she is the cool breeze on an extra hot day,
The reason you feel like it might be bearable to go out and play.
She’s a light spring shower,
Covering the earth with blooms,
Bringing it all back to life.

Oh, but don’t you dare stand in her way—
She is divine feminine rage.
The storms before—I swallowed them whole,
And now I’m beginning to see
That maybe all of that was to make sure
She had an unshakable roar.
And oh, is it beautiful to see
That no one will stand in her way.

Her words spill like lava,
As steadfast as a bull,
Yet her heart is still so full.
Sweeter than honey—
Until you challenge her storm,
Until you test her form.

And if you do, just know—
I’ll pray
For you
To make it out alive.
Because you see, my girl is made of stardust and fire—
Two untamable things,
Two forces together, unchained,
Burning, rising—
Unshaken, unbound,
Stretching far above and below the ground.

So think twice before you stand at her door,
If you wish  to endure the unfazed wrath
Of all the women who came before.
She is the storm, the flame, the roar—
A force the world will soon learn
Can never be ignored.

If there's rain in the sky,
Thunder in the clouds,
The we will take our two feet,
A run through these grounds.

If the fields are drenched,
Then let them be,
Wheat will sprout bountiful,
From the fresh water tears of the sky.

They will hear our feet pounding,
Louder than thunder,
Greater than the storm,
Tiocfaidh ár lá!

Clear the way!
Can't you feel the rain?
It is soft now,
But it bares its bite.
Clear this road so the carriage men may run,
Gather your families, be ready to leave.
Here it comes,
The storm! Can't you see?
Don't you feel these winds ripping up this land,
Get away while you can,
Or die with the land.

The urge came.
Desire filled my breast
and before I knew it
I was flung from one corner to the next,
a branch iced over and shivering
as the tempest of want threatened
to shear me from my past,
to break me.

The urge left me
yearning to be carried away
to a place far removed
from these safe harbors;
over lands where I knew no names
and had no kin,
To a place unfamiliar,
but where the breath of God filled the air
and made sweet the prospect of new beginnings.

If they let me,
I will lead,
I will carry this torch,
Through the storm and flood.

For if not for poetry,
I would be one with none,
This art is a language,
We must carry on.

Mentally expecting the worst
Everything that could go wrong will
But what if it doesn’t?
Still, my list of to-dos gets longer
Running from my problems so I don’t have to deal with it
If my phone rings, I don’t answer
I prefer to keep my distance
Wishing I could disappear
Or that I didn’t exist
Maybe it’s time I get some rest
Can’t enjoy the moments
It’s always what’s next?

Whenever there’s a storm,
And I hear the rain pour,
As the wind blows,
I’m reminded of the coziness of home.
That feeling of safeness,
A place to hide from the darkness,
When it seems hopeless,
A bed for your tiredness.
Though I know,
Not everyone has a home,
Or one that is safe,
One without pain,
So I feel empathy,
For those who may not be,
Lucky like me.
As I write these words,
I hear you,
And I’ll hold you,
In a tight hug.
It’ll be okay!
The storms aren’t here to stay.
Even though the winds may blow,
You can find a home.