The Storm

The thunder; it roars in the night resembling my stomach,

for which I haven't ate a thing in days.

Staring at my food, picking around it with my fork.

The wind seems to blow cold sharp shards into my skin.


When I exhale you can see my breath,

like a piece of my spirit has been freed for a moment before I sucked it back in.

As the rain started to pour,

my eye makeup had began to run, something that I wanted to do.

Droplets fell from the tips of my hair as I stood there,

absorbing the rain in like a sponge.


The sky grew darker but the lighting lit up miles of dark street in a second.

I looked around as I watched couples under umbrellas

and there hands intertwine together.

I realized no matter how cold it was outside almost everybody had a home,

as I watched others lock lips, like how you lock your front door. 


It didn't take rocket science for me to figure out that my home was not in my heart,

but between my thighs.

Because the only time he truly loved me was when he was deep inside.

So as i sit here on this soaking wet cement,

with my mascara smeared, and these awful thoughts in my my head.

i cry to myself, because i found heaven in the 

thunderous skies in your eyes and you left me homeless and bruised on the inside.



This poem is about: 
Our world


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