The Weather

And I lost it again;
The control I thought I had
Over my life and the wind and the weather.

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It’s Not the Wind

I want to think
That water is coming
To my eyes because
Of the wind so violently
Blowing against my face,
But in truth my heart
Is aching, and I can
Feel it, just as real
As a headache.
I’m not squinting
Because of the wind
Either. I’m hoping I
Can start seeing
Differently, that my
Eyes will decide
To side with my head
And let go
Of fairy tales. Reality
Stinks, and isn’t
Nearly as colourful,
But I need to look
At it. I have to
Look at it.

I’ve lost myself
In desperate seas
And pensive woods.
Wandering
With closed eyes
And arms outstretched.
Barefooted,
Climbing rocks,
Stealing away
From the hearts around me,
Carefully covering mine.

Words unsaid
Pierce my chest
And shock me
With pains
Ever so slightly,
No herald to announce arrival.
I bleed,
And breathe,
In between
Bouts of fever
And cold sweat,
Glad my mother can’t see me like this.

The wind is cool,
Tonight.
It almost pushed me over yesterday.
How many other things
In this world
Are that volatile?