Every so often, it rains. 

It pours over my shoulders

Carving the paths

From the curves in my bones.

The liquid makes way to the ground

Where it can tend to the soil

Mix up the mud and dirt

To create something beautiful

For flowers to grow. 

But this rain

It’s not rain.

They’re the tears that leak out of me

Everytime I’m upset

And have too much passion

Burnt up inside of me

Confined to my body

Unable to leave. 

But I want it to leave

Because if it doesn’t

Who will look after 

All the beautiful flowers? 

When I’m stuck in my room

Too miserable to even stand

All I do is rain. 

The sprouts in the dirt,

They thrive. 

Because of my sorrows.