"you're so delicate,"
she says,
sitting next to me
as i try not to cry.
it doesn't work.
i want to
scream at her.
i want to
show her
just how delicate
i really am.
i am
an entire
hurricane
trapped in
a human body
as a single
raindrop.
but i don't do
any of
those things.
all i do is
sit there
and say nothing.
why can't anyone
look past
their version of me.
a version
that is fragile
as a butterfly
opening its wings
(which isn't
fragile at all,
but they
don't know that).
delicate.
the word
echoes
in my head
over
and
over
and
over
again.
delicate.
delicate.
"you're so delicate."
but one day
when i tear the fabric of the universe open,
steal the flaming stars from the sky,
when i set the whole world on fire,
in a blazing inferno of glory and power,
they will see what the word delicate really is.
delicate.
"not so delicate now," i will say to them all.
but until then
i guess
i will have to
stay here
and not speak out.
i guess
i will have to
listen to people
who don't
listen to me
and fake
pretty smiles.
i guess
i will keep
being delicate.
"you're so delicate,"
she says.
YOU ARE READING
Raging Storm
Poetry{a storm may last a moment but a moment is all it takes} raindrops can be hurricanes, too. all raindrops end up in the ocean eventually, though. but we will rise again, learn to breathe again, because broken doesn't mean weak. A collection of poems...
