The Storm, The Fire, and The Fog

I am a storm, I am a fire, I am a fog that never clears. I am a tangled thread of thoughts, unraveling with all my fears.

Some days, I am lightning, bright and sharp, crackling in the air. My words are daggers, my love is raw, my touch is a dare. I burn with need, with hunger deep, for warmth I cannot hold, Yet when it's near, I pull away—too hot, too bright, too bold.

Other days, the fog rolls in, swallowing all my light. I drift through rooms like whispers lost, fading out of sight. The world hums on without me, yet my heart beats too loud, Drenched in silence, drenched in weight, swallowed by the crowd.

Then comes the fire, reckless, wild—sparks that leap and race. Thoughts like meteors streaking fast, no time, no plan, no space. I start and stop, I run and crash, I chase a thousand dreams, And in the end, my hands clutch air, torn apart at the seams.

But the storm? The storm is worst of all, thunder in my chest. Raging winds of love and rage—who will pass the test? Don’t leave me! Stay! No, go away! The push, the pull, the fight— I ache for arms to hold me close, then shove them from my sight.

How do you tame a hurricane, or teach fire to be still? How do you find the sun again when the fog obscures your will? I do not know. I wish I did. But still, I rise each day. Through storm, through fire, through endless fog—I fight to find my way.

So if you meet me in the dark, or in the burning bright, Know I am learning how to live, to hold both love and light. I am a storm, I am a fire, I am a fog that never clears— But I am also someone trying, through the chaos, through the tears.

© zeivya

© filteredserendipity