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The first time I met the storm it hated me. Controlling who I was with it's harsh winds and terrifying lighting strikes. My little cloud sat at back base of my neck threatening to choke the breath out of my lungs. Forcing me to forget who I was and only know it's wrath. It forced rain down my cheeks and painful hurricanes in my chest. No matter how hard you push or how many prescriptions you try you can't change the weather. I realized I couldn't control its storms The only thing I could control was how it made me feel. Then suddenly my little storm was gone And when it does decide to come back it knows better than to try and control me It holds my hand to let me know it's there but the wrath is long gone.
