Talk To Me About Anything But The Weather
Do you believe
that it will all get better
somehow?
Do you think somewhere
down the line
we’ll be able to talk about
anything but the weather?
It feels like I’ve been waiting forever
to tell you
I don’t care about the clouds
or their empty threats of rain.
I care about you
so much
it’s driving me insane.
So, tell me.
Do you believe in God?
Do you think God still believes
in you?
What do you pray for?
Who specifically do you pray to?
Do you believe in miracles,
or our ability to pull strength
from the sound of the right person
saying our name
for the first time?
Tell me about the pain
you felt on your darkest days.
Show me the scars on your knees
from when you collapsed to the floor
in prayer.
How bad did you bleed,
and to which corner of the ceiling did you aim
those divine conversations
with your savior?
Tell me,
did they help?
Or did they leave you unanswered,
only to save yourself?
What color were the irises
of the person who caught you
the very first time you fell?
Were they holy,
or unholy?
Did loving them
bring you closer to heaven
or hell?
Most importantly,
did you ever find your way
back home to yourself?
Let’s play Truth or Dare.
I’ll show if you tell.
How many versions of yourself
did you sell
to the crossroads
of this life?
When you weren’t sure which direction to go
in the middle of the night,
I bet you threw your hands up in surrender
and followed the Moon home.
I bet you let her pull you in with her tides,
giving you excuses to drown
in the depths of your own lies
that you built the foundations of entire worlds on.
Have you spent your whole life
mistaking the planets
for stars?
Are you just another nocturnal robot
lost in daydreams of crimson chaos
so cold,
they could bring Neptune
to its knees?
How is your heart?
How long did it take for you
to turn it into a wrecking ball
and tear down the walls
of everyone but yourself?
How long have you been blaming your own disasters
on everyone else?
How long have you been running
away from the people who only wanted
to help,
mistaking friends for enemies,
and carving paradise out of hell?
The sky
has nothing on you.
Your storms
are the only ones that scare me.
So, I’m begging you.
Talk to me about anything
but the weather,
please.
