Storm Walking

The heavens have opened, and I am outside
feeling like I can breathe again. No-one else
is wearing a similar smile, like mine
splitting my face as I blink back the rain
that comes down in curtains
of glowing pink and green, the wind is battering my brown umbrella
and I wish I didn’t have it, that it was only me
and this baptism, clean and heavy and soaking me through to the bravado
white lace, white, wet skin and
white lightning splitting Hong Kong
into those who will go out into the
life-giving, breathtaking torrent
and those who stay indoors
with their muddled lives and bursting wallets and sad, underfed expressions

It’s like a weight has lifted with the wildness of this raindance
and I know that I could do anything on this stage
throw back my hair, open my arms and encircle the world
as if I hadn’t drank
to a fever pitch every night for two weeks,
or fucked someone I didn’t know or care about
as if this storm were a culmination of a hot, heavy madness sweeping from my eyebrows to my toes
displacing the fight and the fear in my mind with wet, oceanic calm and quiet, seeping desperation
as if life wasn’t running on fast forward

The black rain warning has been raised and I’m walking head on
into the apocalypse
and the thunder is rolling and breaking overhead like a breath without the harshness of heavy nicotine and dope, stinking lungs
pulling into every empty car space with water around my ankles and laughter
frothing like champagne
from the back of my bruised
and battered throat.

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About fiercemissc

Twenty-something Geordie girl living and working in Hong Kong. Young, free and single and making the most of it.
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