They said as the girl grows
the less the father knows
the once daddy's little princess
would be a conniving *****
and he wouldn't be superman
just a man who screams and hits

and as she sees the world
she wouldn't see just a father
she'd see an uncle a husband a man
and question is she was in a trance
a trance thinking he will always be a savior
till one day he comes home not sober

and he starts being conservative
to protect her from eyes like his
unknown that she has seen enough
he doesn't know about the hands that laid
how she screamed "dad come help"
hoping he'd save the day
but alas he isn't there
he's in a far away land
a land where her grades are slipping away
doors locked and room always a mess
how she learned to talk back
slam doors, hit walls
so he lays a hand too
and names it "discipline"
now she dreams to leave the house she knows
she's behind the locked doors waiting for eighteen

The drizzling has stopped
Temporarily, maybe to take a gap
The winds are catching up
A lone hooting owl
A dog that howls afar

A little thunder far away
The winds chilling now
The rumblings can be heard
Rumblings of a distant rain.

What is this feeling in my stomach?
The butterflies flutter nonstop—I can hear their wings beating beneath my skin.
I feel them shift from side to side,
Claiming what little remains of me.

What is it?
What is this bitter taste rising through my throat, resting on my tongue?
Why can’t I hear the butterflies anymore?
Why do I still feel this?

My mouth opens, and all I spit is blood and glass.
The sour bile of what the butterflies once were grows thick—and I can do nothing.
“Spit them out, regurgitate them, let them go!”
I can’t.

I press my chest, and slowly my arms bind themselves around my belly,
Cradle of cutting kisses—kisses that now hurt,
And no longer heal the way they used to.

I rise from mourning, only to fall again, and the butterflies begin to flutter once more,
But they no longer beat like drums or echo like thunder.
They don’t crash against my walls or hide in my corners…
They are there, but not alive.

They try to climb.
I feel them fighting each other, pushing for space up my esophagus—
Once a path for all things good,
Now a tunnel for all things painful.
I hear them scream; their tiny voices pierce my eardrums and shake my bones.

They want out.

And I understand them well:
What good is a body that dances among broken hearts?
What use are shards beneath my feet,
Reminding me how little I’ve felt?
What comfort is the weeping of a soul grown weary?
What joy lies in the bottomless hollow of a body fed by illusions?
They were made for the sun—for joy, for love—
And all I can offer is an umbrella
For the relentless rain storming inside me.
Cold, decaying rain that stains the walls and soils my shoes, instead of washing them clean.

They’re almost free—
About to escape.
But I swallow them down once more,
Just as I’ve swallowed the bile of melancholy,
Just as I’ve swallowed the tears that swore, they would soften the blades of my sharp-edged heart.

I feel them sink slowly,
Their wings now still—they’ve accepted their fate.
I don’t want to let them go,
Because they’re all I have left.
They’re all I have of what once was pain.
They’re all I have of what once was passion…

They’re all I have of what once was love.

The train huffs and bellows;
Screeching tracks sparking
Waves of rolling roaring
Like stretched thunder,
Booming in rapid motion.

Above, a plane traces an arc
Of breathy fury, compressed
And exploding voraciously.
It erupts in ignited screams
Across the moon-lit sky.

Always, too, the forever pops
And sliding-low gurgling of cars
And trucks and motorbikes, vague
Ticks of missing-beats, sparse
Rumbles of howling engines and

Flashing sirens piercing
Continuous above it all.
A cat (probably) somewhere
Screams nearby.

All returns to normal.

Missing the rain,
Leaves me in a blurry haze.
The sound of dripping drops,
Falling onto the rooftop.
The wish to hold you close,
As the thunder boasts.

The wind that blows the soil away
Couldn't blow my scars away.
The wind that sweeps the dirt aside
Couldn't sweep my memories from my mind.

The rain that pours to blossom flowers
Couldn't pour life into my soul's dark hours.
The rain that brings new life to birth
Couldn't bring me strength, or calm my earth.

Yet, in the thunder that scares the night
I find a peace that's my heart's delight.
The thunder's roar, a soothing sound
Becomes my serenity, my heart's profound.

The wind, the rain, the thunder's might
Bring me peace, memories, and a glimmer of light.

I use to look up to lightning and ask it to give me a sign.

Every single time, the unpatterned electricity dazes the sky.

I love lighting.

It brings me peace.

I love lighting.

The natural off-pink it paints above

I could be killed.

and still smile as I sink into a dry sea of pavement.

Lightning gives me a sign to keep going.

Each mumble and crash it releases

Knowing that it will never touch me

Sadness and thunder are the like circles overlapping.

Both are shaking in grief.

As the world seem too much for them

The two circles seem to go round and round.

Dying down and exploding that appear to go on for hours

Some people put their knees to their chest.

As the circles whirl around each other

Shaking as they drain energy

Storms could never go on forever.

They may look like they will never end.

But they always do

I still look up to dry lightning and ask for a sign.

Mother Nature kindly responds.

You are loved.

-K.J.K.

I don’t know if you ever listened to the sky

when it gets hungry.

It growls.
It rumbles.
Even roams.

It sits in the dark,
contemplating what it wants.

Then,

Boom.

Thunder hits
without warning.

At some point,
we've all been there
hungry, with no idea
what we want to eat,
no one to ask,
everything sounding good.

Thunder hits again.

The hush left to whisper
between lips,
******* in air.

It’s enough to make you mad.

The rain doesn’t wait.
The lightning
not knowing where to begin.

Hunger waits for release.

I am the moment
that waits for you

in-between

Today there was rain,
It brought thunder,
Strokes of electric death.
Lightning ripped through the canopy,
Aiming for a defenseless flower field.
But alas, the elder oak reached its branches out,
To take the lightning's killer blow.
So when the rain passed,
We took our saws,
To finish the job.