Thunderstorms are so calming

I can't sleep

I don't want to eat or watch TV

Like the darkness, I stare at silently

I cannot be calm

I worry about everything

To what's wrong with my dad to

what's wrong with my mom.

No end to this infernal nightmare

I hate it.

My mind refuses stillness

The hollow of my stomach declines my

plea to calm

I distract my self as best I can

'Claire De Lune' helps, but I think

it just puts my mind on hold.

It stores all my fears for a while

then it's like a dam breaking

Everything rushes back and hits me full

force.

Sitting on my bed, soft, creamy sheets

remind me

I should probably help with the laundry

but then I think again I have to sleep

I have school tomorrow and act like I'm

fine and broadcast a smile.

I can't now, scorching tears brim in my eyes

Why?!

What is wrong with me?

All I want is for one night

one night that I can sleep for more than

three hours

Lie down Marina!

Close your eyes!

Count another thousand sheep!

I fall asleep after a half hour

I jerk up and struggle for breath.

it was just a dream, calm down

it's all over now.

My nightmares are not something I ever

want to live.

Nothing but my every fear

suffocating me.

I lie in bed staring at the ceiling fan

My younger sister mumbles; staggers up

when she hears me crying

I hate when she catches me at my

most vulnerable moments.

She whispers calming words

I have a 12-year-old guardian

from my 15 year old nightmares

I never tell my friends what I'm thinking

I don't need anyone else thinking I'm

crazy or crazier

Why confirm their theories?

I'm a jokester even to myself

what must everyone else think?

I know they whisper about me—

Do they think I am deaf too?

Do they think I'm going to hesitate to tell them to back off?

I smile then roll over

It's 5:30am time to get up

I look out my window

And I see the sun rise again

Who cares what they think?

My parents love me even though

I'm sort of peculiar—

Or you could maybe say a bit bipolar?

So what if my thoughts are a bit impulsive?

Normal people are dreary.

Sane people are way too control.

Predictable people are boring

call being 'different' a characteristic of mine

I am still here

My heart still speaks

My legs still move

My brain still works

So I have one less thing to care about

They don't have to worry about me being crazy

They should worry about me being better then them.

sleep is for geeks I think

and I grab my notebook and begin to write poetry

Finally calming the storm that is my mind—(last line by David Cordova)

Zemira Marina Nicole