Thunder

By Neena Grewal, TIWP Student

she stands before the fire,
naked,
and screams at the top of her lungs.
we have just
run from the ocean
and simply want our clothes.
they have been stolen
and those at the bonfire have left us.
so she screams.
she’s tired of boys taking advantage of
her trust.
she’s tired of being left exposed
in the firelight.
she is less of a spark and
more of a thunderstorm.
i can’t help but smile.
yes, yes,
beautiful girl,
whose fingers curl into lightning
and whose eyes turn to storm clouds.
rage, endlessly rage.
you do not have to be good.

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