Beautiful Storm Poem by Christina Bird

She was a storm.
Lightning flashed through her eyes and electricity sparked when she was near.
She was the shivers down your spine and the refreshing feeling of wind and rain after a long drought.
She was beautiful and different, a breath of fresh air after a humid summer.
But she was a storm.

She was a storm.
Thunder boomed and when she was around, it was her who reigned.
The clouds would leave the sky and huddle in her hands because she provided safety for them.
She told them she would care for them, that she would protect them.
But she was a storm.

She was a storm.
The face of an angel, but a gaping abyss of darkness and malevolence where her soul should be.
She broke the clouds, making them cry and her laughter boomed throughout the room.
She shot electricity through her hands, leaving everyone in shock.
But she was a storm.

She was a storm.
The sun peeked out from behind her lips.
And rainbows chased her tail, because beauty comes after ruins.
But who’s to say that storms aren’t beautiful?
Maybe that’s why people called her a storm, because she was beautiful, but destructive.
She held so much beauty, but she was a storm.
A beautiful storm.