On the way home
she saw streaks of lightning,
forming whirlwinds,
the subtle signs saying
it’s gonna be hard walking alone
down the road
and it messed with her
for it all the more says
she needs to find her way back
swiftly,
urgently,
but she couldn’t—
and they wouldn’t let her—
so it has become a game of
back and forth,
to and fro,
unbeknownst to her
that all she needed to do
was walk ahead
a little more courageously
and the sky would’ve cleared out
softly, easily;
unless of course she loved
the strong winds
and the wild lights
and the chaos
and that all along
it was with her own freewill
that she got stuck in the middle.
No way out,
built a home out of hailstorms
amongst the beckoning dark—
she fills her days with thoughts
of the dead night
and a fleeting sanctuary
amidst the thousand cuts.