She Was the Storm, Not the Broken Girl in the Rain

She was the storm,

Not the broken girl in the rain.

You saw mascara running down her face

And thought she was weak.

But that was war paint,

Not surrender.

She wasn't crying because she missed you.

She was crying because she remembered who she was

And it hurt to realize

She gave that version up for you.

You mistook silence for defeat.

But have you ever seen lightning apologize

Before it strikes?

She walked away,

Not because she couldn’t stay,

But because staying would have meant

Abandoning the revolution inside her bones.

She was always thunder in soft skin,

A wild spirit taught to whisper,

A volcano told to simmer,

A goddess tricked into kneeling

For someone who couldn’t even look her in the eye

When she broke.

She wasn’t asking to be saved.

She was waiting for the moment

She could set herself on fire

Without burning for anyone else.

You underestimated the woman

Who builds herself back

From ashes.

You thought the rain would drown her,

But she became the rain

Unstoppable. Cleansing. Free.

She is the storm.

Not your storm to run from.

Not your storm to claim.

Not your storm to silence.

She is the breaking and the becoming.

The grief and the rising.

The scream you were never brave enough to let out.

The truth you choked on for years.

She doesn't want you back.

She doesn't need revenge.

She just wants peace,

And that’s what makes her dangerous.

She was always too much

For the ones who couldn’t hold their own shadows.

Too deep

For the ones who only knew how to skim.

Now she writes poetry with the pain you left,

Turns her bruises into ink,

And her scars into signatures.

She’s not broken.

She’s reborn.

And you…

You’re just a footnote

In the story of her resurrection.

So next time you see her in the rain,

Don’t offer an umbrella.

Offer silence.

And watch her storm walk away.