The Blessings After The Storm

Some people curse the storm. I learned how to read the rain. I was bent without becoming broken, buried without becoming gone. Two years taught me survival is not the ending-transformation is. What tried to confine me became the very place I grew wings. The cocoon was never a coffin. It was construction. Pain had its season. Now passion gets one. Grief had the microphone long enough. Now joy gets to sing. Spread your wings. Let the past keep the shell. You have somewhere new to fly.

© Slam Poetry by Lucyalia 2024–2026. copyrighted. Use requires credit to @Lucyalia.

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