Loud noise
Rain pelting the window pane.
Thunder booming outside the door.
Fear that the storm will flood inside.
Fear that the storm will fade.
Why is it that we create that storm?
The storm with wind speeds so strong that it tears apart once stable structures.
Why is it that we wait for the anguish from inside to burst, infiltrating the minds of those who don't deserve it?
Like a damn that isn't strong enough to carry the weight of the lake.
Why is it that we always come back to the storm when all we need is a way to calm it?
Shouting as loud as thunder.
Striking as painful as lightning.
Crying as much as a rain storm.
Fear of the storm brewing.
Fear of escaping the storm's grasp.
Fear of losing all worth loving.
Fear of the unknown.
YOU ARE READING
This Is Me, I Guess
PoetryStories and poems of what it's like to be inside my head. **Warning** Some of the chapters in this story may trigger those who suffer or have suffered from a mental illness, mainly depression and anxiety.
