A day filled with storms

might derail other’s plans,

but the key to swallowing disappointment

is not planning for anything to occur at all. 

The wind blew away 

every hand that reached toward me

with its tendrils of obligations,

which allowed me to roost

on my plans for the future

that almost don’t concern me

enough to care right now.

I reached towards my words,

like I do every other day,

and they came to me freely

without the calm cajoling 

I need to show myself to work.

Without a desire to go outside

and only the need to look within,

I must thank whatever forces 

allowed my stormy head to settle

enough to ease the door of my soul 

open enough

to let my moth-ridden words escape

the pressure building from my own 

inner tempests.