poets across decades have compared themselves to storms,
swirling hurricanes or thunderbolts,
destroying and devastating anything they touch,
leaving a wreckage of emotions and broken hearts.
i compare myself to rain,
dampening any mood and ruining plans as well as shoes,
people hide from me to avoid my wrath,
people are warned about my arrival.
but just like rain,
there is someone out there to appreciate my unusual beauty,
someone who loves my cold touch,
who doesn't wait for the sun to arrive again because they enjoy my bleakness.
i compare myself to clouds,
constantly too far away from anyone,
but when you do get up close you realise I am made of nothingness,
i hold water in my tear ducts, always threatening a rain storm.
but just like clouds,
my appearance changes every day,
constantly shifting and contorting,
some may even go as bold as to call me beautiful.
i compare myself to nature,
because I am slowly being destroyed.
***
I felt like writing this, there isn't really much more I can say.
e.
YOU ARE READING
e.
Poetrypoetry to reflect my turbulent, troubling, and tiresome time on this planet.
