Like Storms

I speak so often of you. Of your perfection even in your flaws. Of your beauty and your pain. Yet, I forget to speak of me. 

You see, I am not a storm the way you are. I do not carry lightning in my eyes and thunder in my soul. I don't hold the power it takes to cause earthquakes in your heart with my decisions or to spin tornados from the tip of my tongue when I'm upset and slinging insults to numb myself. All the same, I am a storm. 

You see, I am gentle. Like the rain I can drown out the self doubt you feel and feed the still growing flowers that bloom from your damaged heart. I am like the snow. Beautiful. Captivating. Exciting. I can be spontaneous. Sudden. Overwhelming. And yet, you still want to play in me. I satisfy your child-like sense of wonder. 

You and I are storms. You are often frightening yet beautiful. To be watched and never truly understood. I am often umderestimated. Never truly seen as a threat until it is too late. But the difference between us is, beauty for you is a second thought. Coming right behind the initial fear. Beauty for me is the foreground. The fear doesn't come until it's too late. 

You are made of lightning and thunder.Tornados and earthqueakes. I am the rain and snow. If you blink to quickly I have submerged everything you own and it's too late. I have taken control. You can be seen but never held. I can be held or swallow you whole.