There is no telling
when this storm will
abate
so until then I'll weave
a little story here
and hope to pass the time.
I'll write this
Easy-Mac poetry
stir up the words, add water
perhaps I'll make something amazing
The rain pours down outside
the leaves float
among willow winds
And I am reminded of the tears
I once cried,
and of the pieces of myself
I had to collect
The rain hurt for a long time
the remembering
was as bad as the rebuilding
and the rain hurt
hurt so bad
Someone asked me today why
I was always so happy
I told them
I am happy because
the rain doesn't hate me
anymore.