Thunderstorms

I woke up today with a thunderstorm in my head. 

I knew it was going to storm because the pressure system that was outside my window was rolling around inside my head, threatening to pop my eyeballs out.

When I came into work, a completely different storm was brewing. 

It's so strange to me how people are so willing to set aside what is important in order to get what they want. Weren't we all put on this Earth to serve each other? 

Every day that I am here I get this wound up feeling in my chest. A restless feeling that causes me to want to pace trenches in the floors. An anxious feeling that picks at my cuticles and chews the inside of my mouth. It may not be this place, necessarily, but the reminder it serves as.  

Oddly enough, I found this poem last night by Gabriel Gadfly. It really isn't that relevant, aside from the whole "storm" thing. 

Supercell

Years ago, in school,

I swallowed a secret,

but it hasn’t settled well

on my stomach.

I am older now and

I’ve learned what indigestion is,

and now this secret

comes back up:

My heart has always

beat thunderstorms

instead of blood.

I am all whirled up now.

My cheeks are puffed up

and I cough up

craggy tree branches

and uprooted stop signs.

I walk into coffee shops

and all these startled people

look up from their lattes

to hear the shutters

smash in my gusts.

They scramble.

They are trying to stay dry,

trying to keep the rain out

of their cups

but I can’t stop myself –

I jerk umbrellas out

of the wrinkled hands

of old ladies,

I flood parking lots,

I topple garbage cans,

I blow down birdhouses

and scrape them down

the middle of Main Street.

My thunder was quiet once,

just a rumble,

just easy to swallow,

but I am booming now

and I make the windows rattle now.

I make the earth shake now.

I am severe now.

I am a red band on radar,

tornado siren out my open mouth.