When I Snap
The train was going rough against the day.
I saw the yellow rocks, God.
I fucked up.
I am everything
the ambulance alarm said I was.
The conductor told me it happened
to him before
and she lived.
I want to paint him a picture.
I shout to all who hear the wind,
“Do not jump in front of trains.
Do not force people to kill you.”
Who hears the wind?
I’ll make sure it is everyone.
Loud and wailing— the ambulance alarm.
Before the train incident,
there were noises when I’d snap
my fingers.
Banging, booming,
the world was so bothered
by my thunder.
I was
lightning that day.
Nobody was hearing me.
I was silent and distant
light.
Outside
somebody is lightning and they’re striking.
I shed a tear for that lost soul.
I hold electricity in
and admire the energy
that can never be contained .
People say you can’t hear lightning,
but it has something to say.
It says, “I am privileged
to touch the ground.”
I’m the opposite of lightning today.
I strike up to the sky.
God didn’t just put the pen
in my hand.
He threw it at me.
I say to him,
“I am skyward
and I am heard.
Thank you.”