I was born while a thunderstorm shook the walls of the hospital
and I think that’s always been a clear way of telling the truth of me:
I’m at my best when lightning is crackling through the atmosphere.
I find comfort in the things that keep others up at night. I am okay
with loving the things that destroy me in the end because what is life
if you spend it cowering under the covers?
I do not hide the evidence of all the things I’ve loved
and lived through. I cannot justify pretending these scars
are something to be ashamed of - I’ve survived and I will again
and what is shameful about surviving?
I make no apologies for what I’ve lived through.
My father always called me his storm chaser; he’d sit out on the porch
when the world was drowning, waiting for me to find my way home
and we’d sit with our feet in the puddles, drinking coffee and
letting the world change before our eyes, recalling
the way we sometimes broke but always healed.
The electricity in the air makes me remember what it’s like to love
and to be alive and I’ll never stop chasing that, I’ll never stop chasing
these storms. My mother used to beg me to stop embracing the things
that cut me but I am not afraid of bruises or stitches, I am not afraid
of the way pain can clutch at my heart, I am not afraid of losing the things
I’ve loved because I’m only making room for something new -
I’m only letting old wounds heal,
I’m only going to welcome the things that promise to change me.