The Storm

I'm sitting

On my back porch
And I'm watching the rain fall
Watching it paint my cluttered yard a few shades darker
 

I hear the hail before I see it
Hear it hit the metal roof I am beneath
I watch it fall on the ground in front of me
Like cold little crystals
 

Frozen rocks
 

And I know if I stay on the porch I'm safe from the potential destruction of these little…

Pebbles.
They remind me first of words,
The idea of words as weapons.
 

I can casually tell my best friend "ha omg just go kill yourself" and let it be a joke.
A casual sort of

Inside

Joke.
 

I can stick my hand out and catch a piece of ice

And it won't hurt.
It'll melt in my hand

And I'll smile.


I can hear a bully tell a stranger to end their meaningless life already!
And it won't harm me.
 

I can let them hit their target dead on
Bullseye
 

And I can watch those hateful pebbles drop

From the softer clouds they were born from

And shatter a car windshield

Or dent the roof I sit under

But as long as I hide

As long as I let the roof take the punch

 

I'll be safe

I'll be fine

But one day maybe it'll be too much

My roof will collapse and

I will have NO place to run

 

And then

Hurt by the debris of my poor broken roof

The guilt I now hold

The fear that I'll be next

The anger that it didn't stand up for itself and hold itself together

I will be twice as fragile when the bully tells me...
 

Go drink bleach.
 

No one wants you here.
 

You're disgusting.
 

Why
 

Are
 

You
 

Wasting
 

Air.
 

Or if I step from underneath the roof

And let the piercing bullets of the grey sky

Slam down on every inch
Of my body
It will still hurt.
Like words.
 

Because when you're told to end your life enough

When you're told you're worthless over and over again

When the sticks and stones to your will to live

To your conscience

To your heart

Continue to come

They pierce you inside and out

And by the time you learn to build your own shield

There's too much damage to scrap together the materials for any armor!
 

And with the metal roof over the back porch I will crumble.
 

One way or another.

 

Unless the storm ends first.

Poetry Slam: 
This poem is about: 
Me
My community
My country
Our world

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