I am outside myself looking inwards.
There is a storm within me,
one of fire and rain,
spark and water.
Its winds howl inside my skin,
filling my head
with words that make no sense,
but hurt all the same.
I feel droplets of blood,
carved from my flesh by those words,
fall into the whirlwind
of the storm I carry.
The winds crack and chip
at the crystal chalice that holds me together.
There are other things in that storm,
other flotsam and jetsam,
that take bites out of me,
harvesting what I’ve cultivated
in order to survive.
Yet within all that whirling darkness,
inside that wind that presses
at the boundaries of my glass chalice,
there is a light.
That light is but a kernel right now,
a small seed that glows
throughout all the darkness
and the shadows that look spiders’ webs.
As I stand back, looking at myself,
I realize on thing:
The kernel of light shines so brightly,
but I would not see it without the darkness.
I touch the crystal,
and can feel the winds brush
against my hands.
I try to wrap my arms around myself
and hope this will make
the small kernel of light