I used to think rain meant the sky was crying,
And maybe it is, but recently I’ve started to wonder why I find rain so therapeutic;
Why I’m able to derive such a sense of peace from sorrow.
Maybe it’s because rain has the ability to wash away everything;
Swallow a bucketful, and it’ll wash away the misery that clings onto your red blood cells.
I’ve watched millions of raindrops repeatedly attack the concrete,
But the concrete never shows any signs of yielding,
So maybe concrete is what I should be embedding into my heart,
Not the silly ‘forgiveness’, ‘patience’, or other frivolous virtues I’ve been taught.
Last time I used metal, but you see, I didn’t anticipate rust,
When my tears just wouldn’t stop leaking.
I’ve tried ice too, but what is ice against boiling water?
When you steeped me like I was a teabag.
Maybe what I need is for my hair to clump into strands,
Stick against my face so they hang limply like my snapped heartstrings.
Sleep with wet hair, and wake up with a cold,
Spend the rest of the day sniffling, just so I’d know that I was stronger than the tears the sky was too weak to contain.
I wonder if someday I’ll find myself praying for the rain never to stop,
Because watching sheets of rain slide into the ground is the only way I know how to heal.
I rip myself apart every day,
But it’s the way raindrops cling together as they slide down windows,
That seals me back together.
Although raindrops can quash the waves of the sea,
There will never be enough rain to drench the fire within you.