And suddenly I am taken

to my inner child self.

In my dad’s arms,

a haphazard scramble,

towards a shelter for help.

But did this storm start

In the sky or my heart?

The front of my life colliding with my body.

Will it linger and stay to cause me anguish every day?

The wind picking up, pushing me away.

The rain feels like it’s watering my darkness inside.

That’s why I was hoping he’d be there.

He’d tell me to find my shelter.

He wouldn’t hold me or scramble.

He’d trust that I would not break, but I would bend.

Because the one thing with storms is they go, they will end.

And my inner child self would know a storm chance can only be put on hold.

To show the overgrown place for my life to unfold.