You arrived in my life like a summer’s rain,
Unexpected, unearned, but exactly what I needed.
A downpour filling the empty riverbeds of me,
Healing the cracked earth where love once tried to grow.
There I stood, arms wide open, letting you soak into my skin.
A feeling of unending, everlasting, love.

But the thing about rain,
It never asks where it is needed, it just falls.
I thought love was something to keep,
Something to hold in cupped hands…

I didn’t know it could be a season,
A passing storm that never stays.
Yet I thought, maybe,
Just maybe,
It was me.

The way my trees blew in the winds,
The way my roots stretched too far.
Were these the reasons that sent you drifting?
For your rain to fall on another land…

The thought of you still pains me,
The rain that once was still remains deep within the wells of me.
But as years pass on,
I still stand.
Greener than before,
Grateful for what once was,
Hopeful for another rain to fall

They say love is beautiful… But my love came with scars
Let me tell you about this boy I met.
But this—
This ain’t no love story.
This ain’t no flowers and butterflies and hug story.
Nah.
This one got fear inside.
Dark corners inside.

And I still can’t believe it.
How I let him break into my heart—
Brought fear.
Brought jealousy.
He Said he loved me…
But all he brought was sweet lies and misery.

And me?
I was crazy over love.
I believed anything.
And I don’t know why I didn’t stand up—
Because I’m strong-witted, right?
But when it came to that *****—
My armor fell.
My crown slipped.
And I handed him the throne.

I let him break me down.
Pulled my confidence to the ground.
And all my friends hated how I let him push me around.
I had a village—
But love had me deaf.
Turned their whispers into static
Just so I could worship his silence.

By the time it was over—
He wasn’t even human.
A demon in disguise.
And still, I stayed.
Delusion made me feel like
The universe spoke for him.

That ***** told me he loved me…
But he didn’t mean it.

And let me tell you why I’m mad—
‘Cause loving him was like signing a contract
Where my name was written in blood.

He broke my heart,
Threw me in the glass.
When he was done?
Picked me up—
And threw me in the trash.

And now,
Now this—
He can’t take back.

This the funny part—
But it ain’t really funny.
It’s just sad.
I still have all those scars
From being thrown through that glass—
But that’s what I needed.
To show me that love
Shouldn’t hurt.
That pain
Was what I needed to take my final step back.

I rose.
I finally chose
Peace
And not pain.

Гром грохочет! Дождь — стеной.
В небе молнии сверкают...
Сильный ветер налетает.
Дождь примчался затяжной?
Скоро, скоро всё узнаем.

В городском дворе — аврал!
И машины завывают...
Дружно фарами моргают.
Смотришь — «телесериал».

Но светлеет неба свод —
Снова голуби летают.
И дождя не замечают...
Посмотрел я — дождь прошёл!

Кап-кап-кап — на подоконник.
Посветлело. Дождь прошёл.
Ну а что всё это было?
Полчаса — и всё вдруг смыло!
Дождь покапал и ушёл,
Пошумел он — побеждённый!

Вот и солнышко сияет.
Ну, как не было дождя...
Только лужицы сверкают,
Да асфальт блестит слегка.

Ох! Вороны всполошные —
Всё о чём-то: «кар да кар»...
Кружат танцы вековые —
Всё, как времена былые.
Так кружится белый свет.

Кружат грозы, кружит время,
Ненаглядный белый свет!
Не узнать другое племя.
Время есть?.. Уже и нет!

Annotation:
This poem captures a summer thunderstorm as it happens: the roar of thunder, flashing lightning, the chaos of the city — and then, just as suddenly, silence, light, and reflection. From fleeting raindrops to eternal time, the verse moves from vivid everyday images to timeless meditation on life’s transience.

A painter paints a canvas full of pictures;
A picture paints a moment trapped in time.
A poet writes a poem to be pictured;
A poem paints a picture in the mind.

But yet—
what do I do
when at night,
in my lowest moments,
I still think of you?

And sometimes,
even on my darkest days,
I still think
of what I would say.

And the wind blows
that bittersweet scent
of a hot summer day—
it makes me think of nothing
but the memories.

I think of how
we weren’t meant to be.

And it’s weird,
’cause I feel like
when I think of love,
I only think of lessons.

But this time?
It wasn’t a bad one
I had to learn.

I learned
that we came
into each other’s lives
before we were ready—
and just maybe,
our foundation
wasn’t steady.

And just when
I start to forget again,
the wind blows
that bittersweet scent
that pulls me
right
back…

It reminds me
of the girl
who loved
before she knew how.

She felt as though
she loved too quiet
while you loved too loud.

And when it ended,
yes—it hurt.

But not because
somebody broke her,
but because
they both held on
too tight.

And sometimes I think of how
two souls held on too tight,
because two hearts wanted it,
but just couldn’t get it right.

We tried.
God knows—we tried.

But we were two people
whose love wasn’t enough.

So we left—
not out of hatred,
but because staying
would’ve ruined the memories
of those hot summer days.

I never write about love.
I just write about what happens after.

Because writing it in black and white
would mean it’s real—
and I’ve never had real, no matter how hard I tried.

And let’s be honest,
I don’t believe it’s real.

You can’t force real,
because real is the little things—
the acts of love.

Like showing up without being asked,
loving without being begged,
standing up for you
in rooms where everyone else sits silent.

It’s the way they make space for all of you,
shining light on the parts the world
would have told you to hide.

I’ve never seen it.
No acts of love.
No one showing up.
No loving without being begged.
No one standing up.
No one making space.
No light shining on all my flaws.

So I don’t write about love.
Because I don’t believe it’s real.

I’ve seen how fast
A life can pass
Yet I’m too tired for life’s dance
Too worried about the egos
of the worlds cast
And too stressed to pick up the trash of my own little worlds past

got married
at twenty-nine.
never planned it,
never wanted to —
until it felt right.

but if i could,
i’d rewind the tape,
strip it all back,
do it differently.

no family
because you’re supposed to,
no friends
because they had us at theirs.

no fortune spent
on a venue,
music and meals,
waiters and bouquet.

we got caught up
in the planning,
caught up in the daze —
the RSVPs,
the website,
the save-the-dates.

if i could do it again,
it would be just you and me,
paperwork signed
in a quiet room,
me wearing my raccoon tee.

don’t get me wrong —
i love the photos.
i loved the dress.
i loved the faces
of everyone there.
but the ceremony,
the nerves,
the performance —
that’s not us.

if i could do it again,
it would be bare,
honest,
without disguise —
just ourselves
when no one’s around.

I
Humanitas

The hortus conclusus, the refuge, orderly whole of the cosmos,
Here we stand, utterly devoid of internal order.
For all things that are, the effects of chaos we harbor.
We yearn for quiet, yet we live to govern or punish.
Reminding us of our own mortality, where powerlessness leaves her blemish.

The universe has gracefully granted us the senses to experience all of her glory.
Fear has, however held them tightly in her grasp and sharpened the sword with which she bullies.
She blinds us, chokes us, finds herself coursing through our veins whilst having us firmly stuck wherever she has struck before we even realize we are no longer the same.

At this moment, Venus appears before us bearing a rose.
Looking through our soul, waiting for when around the stems our hands close,
Thorns of the sharpest kind rip into our flesh, blood seemingly draining the flower’s color.
The petals succumb to the diseased darkness that seeps through us,
Slowly wilting away into a sea of nothingness to which we surrender; her poison of love.

The sea of scorn slowly envelops our limbs announcing its presence,
The color of nothingness turns to a violent violet void.
We try to fight her, but she had won before it even started; we had met Guilt’s very essence.
Her presence deeply imbedded within us, there might be only one way out.

This way out was to go further in, deeper than ever before,
We sink to the bottom, somehow making it to the top.
Surrounding us, a plane of metamorphosing grief salivating at the idea of consuming more.
A new kind of darkness this time, only through the nucleus of danger could it develop.

II
Fulminare

We had never felt such a transformative, disturbing aura,
And amidst the obscurity of these planes stands a beam of light: courage.
A stoic figure remains, drawing and reflecting the moon’s light as a beacon might.
The statuesque Fortitude resisting a languishing Paranoia.

Overcome by power we couldn’t understand,
We seek refuge by its feet, contemplating the meanings of what we see.
Darkness slowly consuming us, Light begging us to follow her command.
Just as we begin to feel, it seems we have already given up.
The shadows have decided what we’ll be, slipping away, we fall in too deep.
An escape from the Light and her cardinal virtue, how could we possibly disagree?

Yet again we find ourselves aimlessly traveling the planes.
This time, something has shattered inside of us,
A primal force that caves the chest in.
Anger has manifested herself, ever so appealing and treasonous.

Looking down upon the burnt remains of our chest,
Feeling as though we are harboring an unknown life form.
She had found her place, and had been waiting a while she confessed.
We look up to the stars as the threat of her presence vibrates throughout, whispering transform.
Wonder, loneliness, uncertainty, loss and despair take over.

As once again, we exist aimlessly, far from where we started but nowhere closer to our unknown purpose.
This voyage is endless, what could transform mean?
For this journey has now transcended spaces and time.
Taking over our mind are scenes of roses, seas, statues, monsters and the unseen.
Putting an end to this would be sublime.

III
Benedicere

As we take our next step, the ground below disappears,
Our vessel being subjected to the effects of gravity drawing us into nothingness.
Right before letting go, a spark finds her way to reveal something we had built for years.
She transformed herself into a flight of stairs.
Disappointed and weak, we tried one last time to climb,
Traveling through realms of body, mind and soul: time.

Still blinded by Fear, we sense connection,
A tower appearing before our fragile eyes.
The stairs continue, circling the mausoleum of liberation.
Hope granting us clarity and perception through clouds of false illusions.

Light had returned, otherwise though,
Softer and far more possessive than ever before.
Shades of vermilion, mauve, coral and the slight hue of azure now unveiling.
Darkness evaporating as dawn gave us something to hope for.
Night was, however, still lingering,
Reminding us of her never-ending presence within.


The cavity in my chest vibrating, entire pieces of me migrating.
A white orb this time, mending the previously damaged vessel, now body.
The complete absence of color in its purest state.
I was ripped from where I had stood calmly,
It guided me through time and space, showering me in tranquility, lifting years of weight off my spirit.

Glancing around I see stone walls;
Destroyed ramparts, ruins covered by ivy, others standing strong.
This place, lush and green has somehow beaten the chaos; survived it all.

I was in a garden, was it mine? Paranoid
Was this what I was running from, what I was trying to avoid?

Floating before me, the orb lowers to the ground and takes on a recognizable form.
She hands me a cosmo of scarlet petals and beckons me to follow.
Now I know, this is where I belong, we were home all along.