Call me Anything But Thunder

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Call me by my other name, I don’t want to be thunder anymore, I don’t want to be seen when there’s a storm. I don’t want to cause fear and panic to people when I strike. I don’t want to shake the world beneath my feet exhausting it’s remains, destroying the loveliness that bellows in front of me.
Call me grace, I can bring goodwill to people, I want to bring smoothness into people’s lives. They say “bad things happens to good people” I want to bring grace to good people. Call me grace, I can be swift with love. I want to make the depressed happy once more, I want to put smiles on their faces.
Call me defeat, I can learn to rise. I can learn not to give up no matter the circumstance, I can learn to take losses and then come back with more wins. Call me defeat because I can defeat anything, because I believe I can be victorious. Call me defeat because I am meant to rise.
Call me courage because I can stare a lion straight in his teeth. Call me design, I can paint a new earth with the edge of my fingers.
Call me lilac, I can find a way to be pretty and smell nice if you let me.
Call me anything but thunder. It’s not my thing anymore, I don’t like the way I get people frightened, people get scared when they hear my voice. I don’t like the way I shake in people’s throat. I desire to be loved and to love I want the soft gentle things not like thunder but like the crisp, full light of a child, like the man who goes to bars but never drinks.
Like the Autumn leaf bruised and flowing to a place unknown. Like a father reading a book to his daughter in a rocking chair. I want the smile of that little kid etched onto my face forever. I want to feel love, I want to be called grace, to bring courage to people instead of fright. I want to bring sweetness and smoothness into people’s lives instead of a scary voice that brings fear in them.
Call me anything but thunder, this crushing fantastic thunder that keeps me roaming the bars and streets at night looking for who to fall inside my trap keeps me writing, keeps me thinking, keeps me questioning, keeps me knowing that if a man wants the world he must grab it by its throat and take it leaving the house at the first kiss of light in the parading morning.

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