For what good is a story
if the protagonist never grows?

I am storm clouds stacked on a warm ocean lesson
preparing to become your next supervillain 

with surges to strike at all of your levees
and downpours ready to flood all your cities.

I’ll blacken your skies like a guillotine,
finding immortality on your quivering shores

my name clinging like an unwise tattoo;
you’ll carry me with you the rest of your days.

For I’ve learned the difference between ‘we need to talk’
and I need to talk to you is stark.

You can’t willy-nilly play games
with other peoples’ hearts.

It’s the wind speed I need to evolve into my own.
No more cowering, afraid to get hurt.

Because I am hurt. I shoulder many hurts
and I need to ensure you won’t hurt me anymore

and I can only do that
as a monster in your distant dark.

My advice to you now?
Brace yourself; take shelter.

Landfall is coming,
I will talk to you soon.