The billions of thoughts that lie on me
rise up. Vulnerable on my skin.
Condensed into a ball — tightness.
Some days it runs off my surface,
flowing into a body of water that builds
until it’s used in later days.
Some days it infiltrates into my chest —
an attack to my non-porous heart that
elevates my heart rate and makes it hard to breathe.
Then once the storm passes, the cycle continues.
The feelings roll back into each other
like a snowball, building and building
until they rush down in snowflakes —
but with less beauty. Perhaps a hail storm.
With pellets that strike my backside.
It’s a cycle — when the atmosphere is
abundant in heavy emotions,
it rains. Then it builds. And then it rains.