The thunder of my heartbeat does nothing to faze the lighting in my head.
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Ever since I was a little girl, I was told god was bowling and that every time I heard I roar, that would mean he made a strike. But what about the lighting? Is that your interception of his excitement? No, thunder and lighting forever in their limbo, connecting to one another like the stars in the sky they will never be. But that doesn't mean that they cannot be beautiful, for to love nature one must love the good and the bad. The joy and the sorrow that the storm feels.
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My tears smell like wet dirt and my mouth is but an oasis in the desert.
YOU ARE READING
My poems
PoetryJust poems of how I feel think. Some are hypothetical and not true, sometimes I want to write what could be or was.
