the eye of a thunderstorm
is very different
from the
eye of a hurricane
in that
there is no eye of the
thunderstorm

there is only chaos in a
thunderstorm
which can be beautiful
in its own way

there’s a sentiment of
acceptance
that anywhere you walk
there could be a lightning strike
that ignites you
and shocks your system into
reality
or charrs you into
oblivion

the white light
is unpredictable
and there is no calm in a
thunderstorm

inside your house
is not calm
inside your car
is not calm
the detested rain
pounds on your windows,
demanding entry
into your heart
and refuses your denial

even though I am trying so
hard to send it away
it will not listen

rain is powerful
it is revitalizing, relaxing, rejuvenating
but it is demanding
and sends its cascades
to me, not
for drowning but
intent on
washing away my pain

the masochist in me wants
to step into the thunderstorm
and confront lightning head on
because I know that
rain will
cleanse my both
internal and eternal
aching

but it wouldn’t be kind
to my loved ones
if they woke tomorrow morning
and found me
scorched
laying in the driveway
silent

so, it is all that I can
do in this moment
is pull back these warm,
dry sheets and sleep
because the rain will
subside if it is ignored for
long enough

if only the same were
true for abhorrent people