a gentle rain
everyone loves a gentle rain
the quiet it brings
the peace
it's addictive to this chaos world
more than any drug i've heard of
and never an underappreciated constant
although
logic would reason that
every time a thing is done
it becomes less significant
yet everyone loves a gentle rain
for every time i've tasted failure
it's tasted the same
bitter nonfulfillment
toxic waste
briny negligence and a sour collapse
of confidence
it is always shitty
feeling unspoken disappointment
that i care too much about
from those i am supposed to respect and impress
i'd say failure is like a gentle rain
for every time i regret
it's just as shitty as failing
feeling as though i've wasted an eternity of this existence
pursuing stupidity and quenching opinion
caring more about others than i do myself
caring more about myself than i do about others
there is but a finger brush of that happy medium
it feels awfully similar to a gentle rain
for every time i've apologized
it never fails to dispel that regret
that consumed my life
much longer than any rational person
could have reasonably anticipated
the release of that closure
and the reclaim of what was mine
are just the drips on my skin
of a gentle rain
and for every time i've cried
it has never been insignificant
there is no indirect relationship of tears to happiness
or acclimation to
each of my premature emotions
and terrible migraine sentiments
which only grow stronger with frequency
i believe i can remember
every sob that's racked me to the core
to the point of that vengeful
nasty regret
all over someone who opted to
cowardice rather than dignity
it has never felt better
for every sob has reminded me of
that gentle fucking rain
even each welling of tears
has taken it's own personal toll on me
those woes at the back of teeming rooms
tend to explode into the most shrapnel
as i try desperately to grasp at the discretion that taunts me
with each judging glance of a random
when my hair could no longer shield me
from the cutting edges of those glances
that feeling of being torn apart by invisible hands
and mute voices is deathly similar
to a gentle rain
these feelings never sway
or stray from how i truly feel on the inside
even through the harshest hurricane and
the warmest breeze
each story
each feeling
each person
that had the grit to
ravage me so horribly
or embrace so tenderly are important to
my Story
they define me differently
yet mean the same
although
i much prefer a gentle rain