I am a tempest.

I’m not the gentle waves that wash up on the shore,

Tickling your toes and inviting you into the water,

I’m not your murky bath water,

Sudsy and full of your own dirt,

No. I’m not tainted by you.

Instead, I’m a great storm.

Batten down your hatches and put up your sandbags,

I’m still coming.

You think your words will calm me?

No. A great storm stops for nothing.

I will not reduce myself for your pleasure,

I deserve fear and respect and I demand it.

I’m not the water in a pond,

Stagnant and just waiting for someone to jump in.

No. I move myself.

I am The Tempest.

I am the great storm that people write about.