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I sat there
at midnight.
I sat there
as the storms rolled in.
I felt
the power building.
I felt
the thunder in my bones,
felt
frisson electricity,
tendrils of lightning
flashing
in the dark.
Raw arcs
on tip toes
dancing
across my skin.
Rain soaked me
to the core
fat, hot drops
tingled,
mingled,
with salty tears,
cauterized
weeping wounds,
baptized,
soothed,
my sore soul,
then ran down
the length of me
carrying away
the detritus
of doubt and shame.
Primal energies
flowed
over,
around,
and through me.
My spirit
sought shelter
far behind
thick walls
of denial,
beneath the roof
of reason,
deep within
my solitude.
I found that
hiding
in the dark
cannot
hide me
from myself.
I saw,
all too clearly,
in the brilliance,
of flashing,
freeze-framed fire,
this too would pass,
the storm roll on
to pound its fury
on other plains—
and return,
and I will survive.

M. Zane McClellan

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