To all the men who didn't see me for what I was

Photo by NOAA on Unsplash

Tornadoes never make good shelters –

but he doesn't know that.

So he tries to find

refuge inside of me,

he tries to build a home

out of my bitten bones

with a porch swing

made of whatever

left-over love 

someone forgot to take back.

He wants me to be a safe place

to hide away 

from a troublesome summer,

but I am not made of light, 

and I am not made of beginnings –

everything about me

is a never-ending ending.

Tornadoes never make good shelters –

and he will soon know that.