It doesn’t start with thunder.
It starts with silence—
the kind that claws
at the edges of your sanity,
begging to be heard.
A crack,
then a break,
then a shatter
in the glass-caged calm
you wore like armor.
The soul does not scream
with voice—
it erupts.
In sleepless nights and clenched fists,
in prayers left unanswered,
in dreams that bleed.
It screams in the smile
you force in the mirror,
in the way you say “I’m fine”
when drowning
feels like home.
It screams in the questions
you don’t dare ask:
Why me?
What now?
Does anyone see me?
It’s not pretty.
It’s not poetic.
It’s fire without flame,
a storm without rain—
just raw,
raging,
real.
And sometimes,
the scream is the healing.
Not the answer.
But the beginning.
Thank-you for reading.
Much love and Light,
Brenda Marie Fluharty
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This piece is visceral and powerful—it strips away the illusion of quiet suffering and lays bare the raw, unpolished truth of pain. The imagery of a “glass-caged calm” shattering and the soul’s silent eruption captures the agony of holding it all in—until the scream itself becomes the first step toward healing. A fierce, unflinching look at the chaos before the calm. 🔥