The Storm

The Storm
is knocking at my door
I think I am locked
between two sides of the glass in my window
Like a butterfly

I tear myself naked from the chrysalis-like skin
The knocking makes me
It is the same gunshot sounds you hear when a police officer
      comes at your door
with a face of an angry grisly

I thought it was funny once

And now I am the prisoner of the storm
Maybe it is weird that a big girl like me is still scared of it
But like an executor sees death in the eyes of a criminal
I see my misery through the water

The sky must be crying

And still I am alone in this little house
It seems huge now that I can’t get out of it
Can’t I?
I could try
But I would still be alone and it would be worse
Being alone in a little house is better than in the

Whole world