The Storms Inside

              The human body is composed of 98% water. I am no exception. My head is full of water; constantly churning and beating against my mind as thoughts hit its surface like hail and the currents of my unconsciousness whip up waves from below. Anger boils the seas into a steamy mess, while sorrow beckons rains which raise the water level to the top of my skull and I drown inside. Small sailboats of what I need to get done are sunk and forgotten in the constant storm. Only in the latest night hours do the mists clear and the waters still; my brain an island emerging from the day’s chaos. There I drag the bones of devastated vessels to be mended for the tumult of tomorrow. Some days are more intense than others. A hurricane of family dispute here, an earthquake of self-doubt there. The only consistency of my waking hours is mental confusion and catastrophe.

                Fragile bubbles are formed through my open mouth, many of which pop before they are ever seen or heard. They are crude, rounded by the world’s expectations and gravitational pressures. Perhaps someday my bubbles will be cubes, or have the sharp edges of what I really want to convey; since souls are so hard to penetrate nowadays.

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