My belly is a storm, an anxious cloud,
Due to the feelings that so unusually shroud.
I'll sit atop it, feel the moisture in my fingers,
But stop, knowing the storm below that lingers.
Possibility stirs my head while beating is my heart,
At the idea of two, not just me in this part.
Frightening it is, for the next cloud has just arrived,
No time to know yet if we'd thrive.
Yet my face rushes red as the storm passes through,
Afraid of messages that wouldn't send of it new.
My body is a storm, my being a cloud,
Afraid of the suddenness that dare my heart to shroud.
Taking from this ribcage, the protection of its vest,
Do I allow this feeling to continue to manifest?
Afraid, no, I'll lean back and watch the rain pour down,
Before I determine if the storm is worth reaching the ground.
I'll float high, let the precipitation rise above,
Before I allow myself to think this crush is love.
Not long, has this new cloud been hailed,
A new cloud I've yet to determine as a contrail.
So I'll listen and let the rain touch me then,
We've grown to know eachother's shapes, if and when.
My stomach churns at the though, red and flushed,
So I'll cross my fingers, this storm's no rush.
YOU ARE READING
12 AM Thoughts || Original Midnight Poetry
PoetryDo you ever smile at 12 AM, staring at the moon, Watching as stars glisten by, Coloring the darkness Only for the sun to take them away too soon? Wonders so full of amusement at the night sky, Smiling at 12 AM With an imagination And hearts full of...
