The Stream That Became a Storm

There are stories that live quietly inside us.

Not the loud ones. Not the ones you tell at parties.

The ones that flow beneath the surface — soft, unseen, and often dismissed.

This is one of them.

This is for the girl who was always told she was “too sensitive.”

For the woman who never learned to ask for more.

For anyone who grew up believing that shrinking made them safer.

💧Where It Begins

I used to think strength meant being loud.

Taking up space. Fighting back. Winning.

But I’ve come to believe that strength is also in staying soft. In trying again. In waking up after another hard night and still choosing to flow — even if your path is unclear, even if your pace is slow.

This poem poured out of that place. A quiet, aching place. But also — a brave one.

The Stream That Became a Storm

by worn_edges

She was born a quiet stream,

taught to follow, not to dream.

Soft and small, she wound her way,

where silent walls urged her to stay.

"Flow with grace, don’t run too wide,

Stay where the banks will guard your stride."

But deep inside, she heard the call—

a voice that longed to break the wall.

She chased the sky, embraced the shore,

she carved through stone and asked for more.

Through storm and shadow, loss and pain,

she rose, she fell, she rose again.

Not with rage, nor force, nor fight,

but steady steps and quiet might.

She drowned the doubt, she crushed the chain,

a river once, now untamed rain.

Once they called her just a stream,

too weak to change, too lost to lead.

Now echoes rise where whispers lay,

her name a fire, too bold to fade.

🌬️ Becoming the Storm

We don’t become storms overnight.

It starts slowly — the courage to say no, the choice to heal, the moment we stop apologizing for wanting more.

And yes, we still fall. We still ache. But we rise differently each time.

This poem isn’t just about water or rivers or metaphorical storms.

It’s about remembering the parts of you that were once silent — and letting them speak. Letting them surge.

🕊️ If You’re Still the Stream…

If you're still winding your way through narrow spaces...

If you're still doubting whether your softness counts...

If you’ve been told your quiet doesn’t matter —

Know this:

You are still allowed to rise.

You are still allowed to change shape.

You are still allowed to become the storm.