I Am the Storm

All night the wind rattled the clanging chimes in the backyard and drove itself mad in loud rushes against the houses and buildings. The rain slashed the window panes and glittered in large crystal gobs, pinned, suspended by the great winds, before sliding its streaky path downward. I tossed and turned a little but not much, more because I left the notifications open on my phone and the random glows lit up the corner of the room like those many soft fireflies we’d collect as kids and put them in jars with fistfuls of leaves and sticks. I can still recall the way it felt to be out in the late night of summer, my bare toes rustling through the freshly cut blades of grass underneath the low hanging trees, you could see the bug’s lights better under there where it was darkest. I could scarcely believe my mother would let me go out in my thin fuzzy nightgown even though I was already clean from the bath. I remember vividly the feel of the warm air upon my skin all over underneath the fabric as I ran and ran and twirled and opened my arms to everything. It is my first memory of freedom, of wilderness, and the taste of the dream that I belonged within it. One misty morning, I woke to find my tiny jar of glow bugs didn’t glow anymore, too young to understand I’d smothered them by fastening the lid on too tight. We try to hold things we have no business holding. We make our attempts at nailing beauty to the wall and think nothing of the arrogance of that. We punish, we manipulate, mutilate, violate, annihilate. We glorify control, exacerbate it, turn it into a perversion and call it adoration. As I sip my coffee and type, I flashback in my mind to the night I left his apartment after we had a brutal fight, stabbing each other with words like knives. Some wounds are invisible to the naked eye. Suffocation. Gashes in the psyche, bleeding in the red tides of emotions we refuse to tame. Pain is where the tears come from, screams come from, hurt comes from, a place you can feel but cannot point to on your physical body, on an x-ray, on a scan; it does and does not exist. Perhaps this, too, is the place where poetry comes from, this placeless place. A pin on a map that nobody can print. A homeless home we crawl towards with what is left of us, that we try to return to when the storms come to your front door. And like a perfect fool, you open up and watch, as they come crashing in.

28 Replies to “I Am the Storm”

  1. Allison,

    I’m not spending too much time reading blogs these days, but know that yours is the one I keep coming back to. I really admire your mind/heart and control over your thought process. I love whatever you write (and just hope this is all made up and a brilliance of your mind). I know I’ve said this before, but I say it again that I would love to read a novel from you, not sure if you’ve already written one. If yes, please share the link, if not, please please write one.

    I’ll soon catch up on everything you’ve written recently, I know that you write everyday, and I’ve not read all of it.

    Till then take care.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Hello there, Nekneeraj, it is always so very lovely to hear from you. It means so much to me that you make time specifically for my writings, that is so encouraging to me and I thank you deeply. And you keep putting the idea in my head to write a novel! I have not yet done one but hopefully one day I can make your wish come true. πŸ™‚ In the meanwhile, I do hope you will enjoy my daily pieces as often as you may like. I am always here, always writing. Wishing you a wonderful end of the week, and you take good care, too. ❀

      Like

  2. Gah. Your brilliance is breathtaking! This piece again feels like a conversation was had with my soul and heard. Speechless. Still processing this. Just had an urge to let my first feels pour out. Fucking amazing. I actually think I need a drink to settle down… πŸ˜‰

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Aahh, I don’t deserve such compliments and yet I gobble them up anyway, shame on me! πŸ™‚ And thank you so kindly for sharing your first feels with me, they are the most exquisite. I am so grateful that my words would inspire a drink… I think that’s good haha cheers! ❀

      Liked by 1 person

              1. Indeed it is. It’s interesting that after being closer to Japanese whiskeys for almost a decade, in the past few months I stumbled upon some truly majestic fire elixirs born in the depths of Scotland… Bruichladdich Black Art just may be my new favorite…

                Liked by 1 person

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