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

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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