Broken

Her rage left her almost as quickly as it had appeared. She slumped against the kitchen wall, panting, a deep ache settling into her bones. She had lost control again. She had lashed out, fighting an enemy she would probably never defeat.

She stared, dazed, at the shards of broken plates spread across the floor like flower petals. She almost laughed. Flower petals? When was the last time there was any beauty in this place?

She closed her eyes, leaning back until her head bumped against the wall. Just a few minutes, a few minutes to wallow in this feeling of total despair. Then she would get up, clean the floor, and move on with her life with a smile plastered on her face. That was a healthy way to deal with stress, right?



© The Lightning Tower, 2020

Awkward First Date

“What the hell is going on?!” Logan shouted above the clatter of gunfire, pressing himself against the alley wall.

“Well,” Mika said, rolling her eyes and peeking around the corner where they hid. “Those people are shooting at us.” She pulled her head back quickly, barely missing a bullet.

“But why?” This was really not Logan’s day. The first date with his cute new coworker, and somehow they ended up being chased by scary dudes with guns? Wait, why wasn’t he more scared? Is this what shock is like?

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Yearning

Sometimes, she felt a yearning for something she didn’t quite understand. It was the feeling of floating in a lake, eyes closed to the blazing sun. It was the feeling of standing outside on the longest night of winter, watching the stars through her misted breath. It was the sound of laughter and the sound of tears, the peace of understanding and the pain of conflict. It was in the music around her, the joyous and the melancholy, the soaring heights and perilous lows. It was in her wildest dreams and even stranger reality. It was something she knew, and something she didn’t; she felt it deeply, this yearning for something, something, something.



© The Lightning Tower, 2020

Quarantine Thoughts

Realization hit.
With all this time
To think,
To reflect,
To decide what really matters,

I’ve been stuck in the past.

I’ve thought about
Who I am,
Who I used to be.

I’ve thought about
People I knew,
Mistakes I made,
How I would have changed
What already happened.

I haven’t thought about the future.

I haven’t thought about
What I want,
Who I want to be.

I haven’t thought about
People I will meet,
Choices I will make,
How I can change
What is going to happen.

Realization hit.
The times we live in,
The fear,
The uncertainty,
The number of possibilities,

Make the future too painful to think about.



© The Lightning Tower, 2020

Lifeline

What do you do when
Your lifeline starts pulling you
Under the surface?

Do you let it go,
Or do you hold on and see
What might be revealed?



© The Lightning Tower, 2020

Self

I am fascinated by my own
Crippling self-awareness,
Paired with having no idea
Who I really am.

And I wonder,
Am I the only one
Who feels this way?

Do others relish this tension,
Of knowing so much and so little?

Or is that just me…



© The Lightning Tower, 2020

Pretty Words

Pretty words have their limits.

Sometimes you need anger,
To scream to the night sky
Until your voice is spent.

Sometimes you need to weep,
To let the dams break and cry
Until you gasp for air.

Sometimes you need to ache,
To wallow in the pain inside you
And just let yourself feel raw.

Pretty words have their limits.



© The Lightning Tower, 2020

Acceptance

I’ve noticed that her cries
Have grown softer,
As her grief
Subsides.

She sits
And watches,
As the world continues
Without her dearest friend.



© The Lightning Tower, 2020

Bittersweet

Sometimes the memories
Take over my mind,
Bringing me back to a place
Where I’d rather not be,
And all too often
The taste is bittersweet.



© The Lightning Tower, 2020

Observations

She squinted up at the obscured sky, watching as the sunlight seemed to strobe through the leaves on the trees. Flashes of brightness were followed almost immediately by darkness, then back to glaring light. Her eyes couldn’t keep up, couldn’t adjust. She was always on edge, always blinded by the light or the dark.

How poetic, she mused. Almost as if the light and dark were about the battles in ourselves.



© The Lightning Tower, 2020