the sound of thunder

So strange it seems to me now to hear the sound of thunder.
A sound almost comforting, like the dull drowsy ache of a hunger.
So strange it seems to hear that sound
Which once evoked from me such an intolerable fear-
Now to which I can listen in peace.
What a hope it lights in me, however small;
For I miss the days when my worst fear was something so concrete,
So real as a thunderstorm.
But knowing that even this can fade,
What once threatened can become beautiful to me,
This fills me with a gloomy kind of joy.
Gloomy from the dark and damp of a rainy day,
But joyful for how it causes the street to shine-
The rain on this path that I walk.
So that maybe what is terror in me today
Will become fragrant to me by the rain's growth of flowers.
This too shall pass, as the rolling of the thunder-
The roaring in my heart.

time and tides

My mind speeds past the clock,

And yet the rest of me stays behind.

The clock, cold and calculating

Does not wait for me,
Nor I for it.

I move so fast,
And time so slow.
The waves rush towards me,
Growing bigger and bigger.

Do I dive in or try to run away?
It makes no difference.
Still they come,
Still they will crash-
Coming closer and closer
As my thoughts race.

The scariest thing about the waves and time
Is the way they move.
Uncaring, unfeeling, and never stopping-
So much bigger than me.

I have no control.
The clock keeps turning,
The waves keep crashing.
The dreaded moment approaching,
The crest of the wave appearing.

I am helpless.
Defenseless before the laws of nature.

after the rain

Sometimes 

There's something beautiful

After the rain. 

When everything is bathed

In that eerie light, 

And you see it all in a way

You've never quite seen it before.

Suddenly
There are colors
In new places.

Places that were once
Only black
Now shine
In that strange new light.

Wet
And mysterious,
And beautiful.

"And the rain will make the flowers grow." ~Eponine, Les Miserables

i listened to a happy song

I listened to a happy song,

Yet sadness dripped from every note.

It accumulated in teardrops,

And oh, how they sparkled in the sunlight.

I reached out to touch them and they broke,

Spilled out their despair.

But it was a beautiful kind of despair,

The kind that you want to hold on to for a while.

Soothing, yet searing.

Filling me with warmth, yet striking me with a coldness.

For sorrow can be so lovely,

Dressed all in white.

But white can be such an empty color,

And sometimes I feel empty too.

easier

I'm scared. I'm scared it's always gonna be this hard. Because I've done these things a million times, these things that I'm afraid of. I've faced my fears and gotten through okay. But it never really gets easier. Every time I'm right back where I started. And in some ways that makes it all hurt worse. I'm afraid that I'm never going to find something I love that doesn't hurt me. It seems like the things that are supposed to be good are the things that kill me the most. And mostly, I fear that these feelings are never going to go away completely. That they will linger inside me and around me always, haunting everything I try to do. I'm afraid that I'm never going to be free. Like maybe this fear is just a part of who I am, and I can't escape from myself. I'm afraid that I'm always going to be afraid. That I'm always going to be like this. That maybe I'll never find peace and every moment that's supposed to be good will be this hard. Because it never really does get easier. And I wonder why. But I don't want to try. Not anymore. Because what do I even have to look forward to?  Everything good is stolen from me, and yet I am the thief. What am I becoming, is this even me?

"The simplest things became the hardest part now. The easiest parts have taken all my dreams. I'm afraid, I'll never be okay. I'm afraid. I'm scared I can't be happy. I'm afraid. The silence you feel is not a way to be sincere, it's just a way to cope, a way to heal. But not for me when I can't feel. The subtleties that make me want to be alive and not a statue. Breathe the air, be here to talk to. I'm afraid, I'll never be the same." ~Silverstein, "Medication"

though i tremble

Be still my soul,
Breathe in and remember.
Your thoughts wander in the future,
Pull them back to the present.
This moment.
What do you need to do?
Right here. Right now.

Be still my soul,
This fear that you feel isn't wrong-
This is not your fault.
But there is joy that is bigger, fuller
Than the pain of this moment.
There is one who holds all the answers,
And He holds you in His hands.

Be still and know,
He is God.
You can trust Him-
Look to Him now.
Maybe it won't all get better,
Sometimes the storm will rage on.
But though you tremble, He stands firm.

the song of her solitude

Timidly, she tiptoes through the old house,
Afraid for her weight to press against the wooden floor.
To awaken with her creaking the beast inside,
As the darkness awakens her senses.

Tiny sounds fill the night around her,
Echo through her being.
Whispers turn into screams inside her mind.
They crash down like waves, drowning out everything else.

She longs to break the silence that surrounds her like a fog,
To pierce the air with her voice and shatter it like glass.
For her lonely melodies to swell and glide through the darkness,
And sing the words she cannot find.

But she stands here frozen, afraid to take a step.
This house is a maze, and she cannot find a quiet room,
Where no one can hear her-
Where she cannot hear herself.

She tries to shut herself away from all the sounds
That so constantly grate on her mind.
But she cannot escape the music that comes from inside her-
The music that she fears most of all.

The silence she treasures above all else,
Her endless pursuit,
Is choking her, paralyzing her, torturing her.
Searching, always searching, with these harsh painful footsteps-
So afraid of being heard, so afraid of hearing.

The song of her solitude she tries to hide, even from herself.
But through her attempts to eliminate all the noise around her,
Forever remains the song within her-
Her own heartbeat pounding, pounding, pounding;
Air rushing through her lungs, thrashing and roaring in a never-ending storm-
The whirlwind of her soul that she can never escape.
For where there is life, there can never be silence