i come nestled in between pages
dog-eared,
bookmarked,
but always returned.
i wish the ancient stars good-night
as i thought they were good friends of mine
even if the smog and city lights hid their life
i learned take their existence with a grain of salt
as no map has ever charted my faults
i stick to dissolving with the hail out on open fields
after kissing the supercells on the way down
from being spat out of a thunderhead crown
under eerie stormy-green skies
i twinkle like shards of phosphophyllite
rainwrapped,
leaving only cycloidal marks.
i know of blinding heat
of shattering cold
of only things that are bold
i’ll bind the pages back to how they were before the storm,
even if it means unraveling the work i put in to be the norm.
Author’s Note:
What inspired me to write this poem is my renewed fascination with meteorology, specifically tornadoes, even though I’ve never been to Tornado Alley. I often feel like I embody the storm itself. As a lonely teenager and only child, this poem resonates with me; it captures how I see myself.
Quazi Mahjabin | 15 | New York City, NY | @zn2fepo42h2o on TikTok & Instagram
