Cathartic celestial dew
On a parched journey’s path.
Tear-shaped diamonds fall
In a pitter-patter’s dance.

A guardian of droplets
In a rhythmic play –
A watercolor-whisperer
On a rainy day.

Beneath this umbrella,
My world begins to shift.
A cascading scene
As downpours drift…

A stomp, a step—lightning cracks.
A spin, a snap—no turning back.
The drizzle? Gone. Let it pour.
This is my storm. This is my floor.

Drop the act. Flip the switch.
No more waiting—this is it.
Rain pounds. Thunder screams.
I step forward. I take the lead.

This ain’t no waltz. This is the spark.
I am the storm. I am the dark.
In this moment I take what’s mine.
Feet in the flood—head held high.

Hold my umbrella—watch this!

No more rhymes. No fancy words.
I step into power. I step into light.
No more whispers. No more doubt.
Forget the rules – I own the night.
And nothing—nothing—can hold me in.

(This poem is for that little girl who felt she had to hide in order to survive.)