Tag: Poems

My soul is as wise as she’s old,
a thousand years old.
She’s patient and quiet,
Everything about her is silent power.
But inside this body, she fights against time and sorrow,
with the courage of an ancient warrior.

My soul is not taking her chances with random lovers,
because she already loves one.
His soul is somewhere, looking, waiting, fighting.
She knows her devotion and chastity hold a name, an owner.
That’s why my heart hasn’t loved anyone yet,
There’s a lock in place, and I have stopped rebelling against it.

I am just a kid, born yesterday.
I don’t know anything about love, life, or death.
In this human body I just landed,
no memory of the wisdom my soul carries.
How could I not let her guide me?
How could I choose to love with my newborn mind?

They are not my enemies, as I thought they were.
My soul is not against my mind.
It took me a while, but I know that now.
In the middle of those dark years,
closer to the day I was born,
A landmine battlefield confused my heart.

Ally territory, ready to blow out my guts.
Who would have thought that’s where my soul wanted to crash?
Between snakes and spikes,
She chose to be born in the mud,
where the world is harsh and fast,
where the night’s terrors crawl even under the sun.

My legs took me where the silence was a balm.
There, I bled through the cuts on my palms.
Imagine my surprise when I looked up
and noticed how all my youth had passed.
Indeed, you don’t realize how broken you are
until you have to collect all the pieces and try to smile.

How heavy it is to carry on with an “I’m okay” at hand!
To hide in plain sight, to care for them all and not at all.
I’ve learned that there’s only one way to stop the rain,
with your bare hands.
Open up your chest and be one with the pain.
You’ve heard it too, don’t you? “It’s the only way.”

LVF

Companion Analysis: The Awakening

The piece opens with the assertion that the soul is as wise as it is old, a thousand years old, immediately situating the reader in a realm that transcends ordinary human experience. This choice evokes the idea of reincarnation and the timeless nature of the soul, suggesting that there is a deep, innate wisdom that exists independently of the human consciousness. The soul is described as patient and quiet, a silent power that lies dormant, unrecognized by the body it inhabits. Here, the work reflects on the dissonance between the knowledge carried by the soul and the limitations of human awareness. The soul, with all its ancient strength, fights against time and sorrow—the metaphors for depression and anxiety—with the courage of an ancient warrior. This imagery communicates the enormity of facing intangible struggles without the guidance of conscious understanding, highlighting both vulnerability and resilience.

The text then transitions to the realm of love, framing it in the context of destiny and devotion. The soul is not taking chances with random lovers because it already loves one, a reference to the idea of soulmates or twin flames. This is an expression of the inner knowing that many fleeting connections are not aligned with the deeper purpose of the heart. There is an acknowledgment of past mistakes and relational misalignments, yet the voice conveys a calm surrender to the wisdom of the soul. The line about a lock in place and the cessation of rebellion illustrates a conscious choice to honor that inner guidance, reinforcing the tension between youthful impulsivity and enduring spiritual insight. Here, the work presents the paradox of desiring love yet understanding that authentic connection is bound by something greater than temporal attraction.

The narrative then moves to the human perspective, recognizing the limitations of a “newborn mind” inhabiting a body that is just beginning to experience life. There is humility and awe in the acknowledgment of ignorance regarding love, life, and death. The soul offers guidance, yet the body and mind must navigate the material world, often clumsily, under the constraints of inexperience. This section captures the tension between the eternal and the temporal, between wisdom that is inherited or innate and wisdom that must be learned through living.

The work then explores the turbulence of the early environment. The imagery of a landmine battlefield and ally territory ready to blow out the speaker’s guts communicates the danger and instability encountered in formative years. Family, expected to be a place of safety and support, is reframed as a complex terrain of conflict, deception, and emotional risk. This portrayal captures the necessity of resilience in the face of relational strife and underscores the soul’s choice to inhabit even the harshest circumstances. The lines about being born in the mud, where the world is harsh and fast, and where night’s terrors crawl even under the sun, extend this metaphor to social reality. These are not just private challenges but environmental ones. They reflect the vulnerability inherent in being a young girl in a world that often sexualizes and endangers children, in which threats are pervasive and not confined to hidden or nocturnal spaces. The language conveys a visceral understanding of trauma as both situational and societal, emphasizing the vigilance and strength required to survive in such conditions.

As the poem progresses into adulthood, the narrative turns to independence and the painful accumulation of self-knowledge. The speaker’s legs take her to places where silence is a balm, spaces where grief can finally be experienced and processed. Bled through the cuts on her palms conveys the effort and pain inherent in this journey, while the recognition of lost youth captures the emotional weight of years spent merely surviving. There is a sense of delayed comprehension, that the full impact of trauma and struggle cannot be understood until there is a safe space to pause, reflect, and attempt to integrate experience. This is followed by the profound realization that brokenness is not immediately apparent; it emerges fully only when one is forced to collect the pieces and attempt to continue, attempting to smile despite the lasting imprint of past hardships.

The final meditation confronts the tension of existing socially after trauma. Carrying on with an “I’m okay” at hand, hiding in plain sight, and caring for others without truly connecting conveys the paradox of social engagement for someone profoundly isolated by experience. There is a candid acknowledgment of the impossibility of full empathy or intimacy after enduring extraordinary suffering. The metaphor of opening one’s chest and being one with the pain crystallizes the necessary path toward healing: confrontation, acknowledgment, and integration of suffering. It is a recognition that, while relational and societal connection remains limited, resilience and understanding can emerge from direct engagement with one’s own pain. This section underscores that true emotional courage requires solitary confrontation, while also gesturing toward the eventual emergence of peace and self-knowledge.

Overall, the piece functions as both a reflection on the timelessness of the soul and an intimate reckoning with the material, human experience. It navigates the tension between the eternal and the ephemeral, the spiritual and the corporeal, the witnessed and the hidden, crafting a narrative that is at once deeply personal and universally resonant. The metaphors, imagery, and themes coalesce into a meditation on endurance, wisdom, and the profound solitude of living with both trauma and the enduring knowledge of one’s own soul.

Storms and lightnings hurt like a heartache,
It will never be silent, it will always be slumped.
Once the rain passed,
the glass-cracked roads remained.
My soul dreamed about growing peace where my mind was maimed.
With sticks and stones as flowers without thorns.
It never mattered to me,
And in the end, it didn’t matter to him.
After all was said and done,
The town cheered for the sun to come,
But I won’t ever know how to exist until the next thunderstorm.

Analysis & Reflection:

This piece is a meditation on memory, trauma, perception, and the complexity of human emotion. On its surface, it describes a literal storm (lightning, rain, and the aftermath) but beneath that, the storm serves as a metaphor for periods of intense emotional upheaval, particularly heartbreak. The opening line, “Storms and lightnings hurt like a heartache,” sets the tone: this is about emotional pain so vivid that it resonates physically, a storm inside as much as outside.

“It will never be silent, it will always be slumped” conveys the lingering weight of that emotional turbulence. Even after the storm has passed, the speaker cannot rest; the turmoil remains, slumped and permanent. The “glass-cracked roads” that remain after the rain symbolize the visible and lasting marks left by these experiences; scars, residual trauma, and memories etched into the psyche.

The poem then turns inward. “My soul dreamed about growing peace where my mind was maimed” reflects the struggle to cultivate healing and serenity within a mind that has been broken by past pain. This is an image of fragile hope: trying to grow flowers in a shattered pot, to create peace where trauma has taken root.

The line “With sticks and stones as flowers without thorns” deepens this idea. Sticks and stones evoke harm, violence, or emotional damage, yet the speaker’s mind reframes them as harmless, like flowers without thorns. This represents the distorted perception of trauma: the mind tries to make sense of violence or pain by interpreting it as something tolerable or even beautiful, even when it is not.

The following lines, “It never mattered to me / And in the end, it didn’t matter to him,” illuminate a crucial tension. The speaker’s inability—or perhaps learned coping mechanism—to recognize the pain contrasts with the other person’s indifference. One side does not see the violence, while the other does not acknowledge it. Both are trapped in misperception, highlighting the emotional dissonance that comes from trauma and misaligned understanding.

The poem then broadens to the external world: “After all was said and done, the town cheered for the sun to come.” Friends, society, and observers celebrate the end of the relationship, assuming it brings relief. They expect the speaker to feel liberated, to move on, to bask in sunlight after the storm. Yet the speaker cannot inhabit that calm. “But I won’t ever know how to exist until the next thunderstorm” captures this profound truth: the speaker’s sense of self and vitality is inseparable from intensity, chaos, and emotional turbulence. Calm and conventional healing feel suffocating because the storm is familiar, and its absence leaves a vacuum where identity feels unmoored.

This ending encapsulates a cycle of trauma and learned patterns. While healing is possible, the speaker’s understanding of love, connection, and intensity has been shaped by past experiences. The “next thunderstorm” is both inevitable and necessary, it is the environment in which the speaker truly recognizes themselves, even if it perpetuates patterns of emotional turbulence.

Ultimately, “Thunderstorm” is both a reflection and a confession by the author: a younger self’s struggle to navigate heartbreak, trauma, and misperception. It captures the beauty and danger of emotional intensity while acknowledging the lasting scars that shape our perception of love and existence. Reading it alongside this analysis allows the audience to see not just the words, but the lived experience and artistry behind them; a glimpse into the mind and heart of someone learning to grow through chaos, and eventually, to heal.