It's raining in my house today. The walls are shaking in remorse as the thunder claps grow to a deafening boom.
The floors creak in agony for forgiveness from the unrelenting storm that batters my painted lady home.
It began with the roof, and all of its tiny insignificant holes, all leading to the major downfall, the catastrophic flooding which has engulfed everything I hold dear.
And here is sit with my head in my hands and my knees tucked so far into myself you'd think I was made of nothing.
At least that's how I imagine myself when the whole world, the entire house I've built myself made of steel and stone comes crumbling down because of a few strategically snapped twigs.
Is this what I am becoming? A makeshift lean-to out in the middle of a blundering storm made of my own poor decisions and discontent.
I am left wondering yet again how I could have prevented this travesty, the same that bears my very name on its chest.
It breathes in my soft skin while its gnashing teeth separate flesh from bone, my from myself.
What am I left with but the expectations of others to take the bits and pieces of my shattered home, the split support beams, my tattered roof, and broken windows,
and construct them back into something even more lovely? That is not me. I lack the self-preservation most people hold so dear in order to complete such a daunting task ahead.
Instead, I will make armor. A helmet of painted shingles and glass shards along with the wooden splintered chest plate to match.
Spines form up my back like the forks that stick into my skin, yet turned around seem to make an elaborate mask.
"I am safe," I tell myself inside of this cocoon meant to keep the world at arms reach. "I am safe," I say as I curl up in a tight ball, surrounded by the smallest reminders of my past regrets.
"I am safe" I try to convince myself when the floors creak and the walls drip and the roof bends under the weight of a thousand little drops of rain.
And I hold my breath deep inside chest as I lie in the very center of this disaster and count the seconds until the house comes falling down onto me all over again. Accept it doesn't.
I sit there with my head in my hands, and my knees tucked so far into myself that you'd think I was made of nothing and it never comes.
The storm passes and for the first time, I am left with something.
I slip off my armor cautiously until I am nothing but the bones and flesh and skin that I had stripped from my body so long ago. It must have been a cocoon after all.