When I have nothing else, and when my life is out of order
I hold on fiercely to a simple notion: that I am, and always will be
A swirling storm, a blizzard in the heat of summer, of emotion
and past experiences that build who I am and what my life has meant
to me and those who I can call friends, allies, supporters.
The blizzard of my life has been biting, cold, dangerous to the touch,
filled with a dark huddle of clouds, who each take their turn to block the sun
from my view, forcing me to see the light in other ways and make my own path
to trudge along in the coldest of winds. These powerful gusts move each little flake –
each little experience I have had, all unique in their beauty and harsh cold – far
away from where they were meant to fall, forcing them to accept a new position
in my life.
The flakes are ones of painful separation, losing those who called themselves friends
But weren’t really friends, losing my cousins as they turned their backs on us,
my family to survive alone in the cold, my family to try and move on when all we can
think of doing is breaking down in tears. We fight to find happiness, but all we can
think is how wrong the world is. We hold on to each other tightly, and I drift farther
away. I am a black sheep and cannot think to connect with the rest of my herd.
My own sorrows stem from the roughest of the storm, the pounding of hail.
When I was young, too young to see, I was taken, I was locked in by he-who-was-a-friend,
an evil liar filled with malice, who threatened to end…my life.
If I spoke a word of what he forced me to do, if I said anything at all, I was in danger.
How could I connect with my family, if I was a stranger? I could not be one of them,
Not really. I was too far apart and too afraid. Too afraid. Too afraid.
I went on, hoping to forget, hoping to never think again, but then, a miracle.
The hailstorm ended. He-who-hurt-me confessed himself, on accident, and my family then knew.
I was ashamed, but I was so relieved. My herd did not hate me as I thought they would,
instead they gave me support, loved me, but it wasn’t enough.
The storm continued.
The clouds became menacing, the torrents of snow encircling, and I was trapped
in a world of my own making, of suffering without knowing why I suffer so much.
Of being so tired I cannot sleep, but wishing for an eternal end. Of being so drained
that I have no emotions to spare. Of being so alone that I cannot be around people.
How did the storm break? How did it clear? It was difficult, it took too much work,
but I found help, and I found healing, and then, of course, I found my supporters.
Those allies of mine support, offer release, and brought about the sun.
Though the snowstorm is still cold, though it still brings about snow, most often,
I can see the sun. I can see the graceful glittering glory of the flakes below my feet,
I can see the wonders of this sparkling world of light that seems to have come from a dream.
The host of snowflakes I experienced, each pain, each joy, brought about a beauty like no other,
and built a most unique landscape that is me. I am a blizzard, and I am proud of the storm.