ugly kid

if i were a superhero i'd be storm

You know mom prayed for you, a baby born in rain wrapped in soft pink, cries sound like dripping water. She didn't become a storm until her ninth birthday.

Hell had never come in the form of a hurricane till you.

Tsunami's with a capitol T, printed on her skin. Slapped across her face, screamed in front of her nose.
Do anything to subside her.

Even if it means doors locked shut.
A chair in a lonely room.
Belts with cheap rhinestones.

she'll smile tomorrow still.
as inevitable as rising sun.
you'll watch her teeth gleam and it'll sound like a thunderbolt thrown into your ear.

she cries silently. Always has.
There's a calmness in her troubled waters, things like turmoil and the day she was taken away to the night she spends without warmth.

she once sat through a thunderstorm on her balcony. Sixteen stories in the air. She watched a fight in a purple sky with no fear. Sister calling for her to come back inside. Lounging in a chair, cheering on the heavens.

she talks about thunderstorms too much. but that lightning was right there. Too close. Made her eyes blank for a few seconds. She's smiling. and the noise that came after must've been the sound of the lake splitting in two.

stormy child.
hurricane seasoned summers were meant for you.