{"id":739,"date":"2025-06-16T14:18:55","date_gmt":"2025-06-16T19:18:55","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.akella.org\/home\/?page_id=739"},"modified":"2025-06-16T14:49:53","modified_gmt":"2025-06-16T19:49:53","slug":"the-weather-inside","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/www.akella.org\/home\/our-poetry\/the-weather-inside","title":{"rendered":"The Weather Inside"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

\u2014. Prelude \u2014-<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I look okay, don\u2019t I?
Maybe a little quiet.
Maybe slower to laugh today.
But I got dressed. I showed up.
I\u2019m \u201cfunctioning,\u201d right?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

What you don\u2019t see
is the fog sitting heavy between thoughts,
how every step feels like walking through wet sand,
how my skin hums with static
and my nerves echo like bruises.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

What you don\u2019t hear
is the small scream behind my smile,
the way I bargain with my body just to stand,
just to speak without breaking.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

You ask me to join,
to participate, to engage\u2014
and I want to.
But there\u2019s a weight on me
that politeness can\u2019t lift.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Still, I nod. I try.
I answer gently.
I say \u201cI\u2019m fine,\u201d
because it\u2019s easier
than explaining
a kind of tired that sleep won’t touch,
a kind of pain that leaves no scar.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This is the quiet storm.
This is me, trying to stay kind
while every fiber of me wants to retreat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I am not asking for rescue.
Only for space.
A little stillness.
A little grace.<\/p>\n\n\n\n