At last I break, not gentle, not kind,
but with a force that shreds the mind.
The storm must end, the storm must bare,
its hunger, its fire, its raw despair.
Walls collapse like lovers’ knees,
I fall, I writhe, I do not please.
But in my ruin a rhythm grows—
the body floods, the spirit knows.
I am the rain that slicks your skin,
the lightning’s kiss that burns within.
I’ve carried the weight, I’ve made no sound,
but now I demand to be unbound.
Come closer—closer—risk the flame,
your hands, your breath, must break my name.
I am not stillness, I cannot pretend,
I am the storm that will not bend.
Yet in my chaos, truth appears,
not in silence, but in sears.
The storm is dual: shatter, mend,
beginning, breaking, without end.
I am fire’s oath, I am the rain,
I am your hunger, your holy stain.
If you dare read me, you’ll be undone—
for I am many, and I am one.
I am the storm—unyielding, wild,
yet inside, I am only a child
aching for touch, for someone to stay,
while thunder tears the world away.