The Rain

The rain matches my mood right now. Not pouring, but about to start to sprinkle. Throughout the night, it’ll get heavier and lightning and thunder will dominate over our heads.

If only you could be safe from me in your own little home, like we can shelter ourselves from storms.

I’m a storm.

Unexpected, coming without mercy.

I throw lightning against trees, I spit fire across towns. My harsh water showers knives.

The sky is dark and ominous; you wrap yourself in blankets,

I don’t care. I turn the power off with a snap of my fingers.

Everyone talks about the storm on Facebook, can anyone hear the rain?

Is anyone else up?

But I love it. I love storms, I could get lost in one. I like the sound of the pitter patter against my window, it lulls me to sleep.

How fitting.

Here in Texas, central Texas to be exact, it doesn’t rain much. So storms, not so common. Like me.

I toss things around with a flick of my wrist.

Dog houses? No problem. I let the cats shiver underneath trashcans; they scram out of the gutters.

If you open the door, the wind is cold, whipping trash across the ground.

I don’t let my anger out often, but when I do, Lord have mercy on you.

I don’t.

I don’t care if you hurt because of what I say, I’m just letting everything get out there, saying how it is. I tell you why you’re making me feel like shit, I get upset and say that there’s nothing you can do but be there for me. But you can’t.

To make it worse, you go running to someone else, telling about me. Telling her how I am. When I told you not to, because it scalds when people gossip about me that I thought were my friends. When the most important thing to me is that you don’t say things that are about me, that are me.

My trust. I hate it when people abuse it; it’s the worst feeling residing in my gut. I trust too easily, I give chances when I really shouldn’t.

So you hear thunder rumbling about a town away. Not a big deal. The clouds aren’t completely dark. There’s still some sunlight behind you.

But you keep pushing, you keep saying the wrong thing, and I’m tired of pretending I’m not mad. It feels so much better when you don’t hold things in, let it out. It’s supposedly healthy.

But not in my case, oh no.

I destroy houses, mud on the road causes cars to get into wrecks, people watch from the foggy windows in their home.

“One of the worst storms in years,” newscasters say.

Because it doesn’t happen often with me. I don’t get pissed often. I push the anger down, because I‘ve learned how to control it. But no, not with you. When I’m sharing what’s inside of me, you don’t say things like that. You don’t crush me. You don’t act like you can never be there for me. You don’t try failing, falling, and bringing me down with you. So I can be only one thing. Angry. Angry that I made the mistake of letting you see. But it’s too late now. I just want someone to hold me, and I don’t think I’ll ever get that.

You’re the only person who can jolt me around so much; I let so much slide with you because you don’t know the wrong you’re doing. So I burst out. At least none of my feelings are left hidden and for me to seethe over time.

At least the storm is over.

After last night, I’m surprised you still stick with me.

I toss your feelings down the sewer; I rip the trees to shreds in front of you. I let the rain sweep you away, and I’m above it all. It’s this sick feeling of power. You try to run away, and that makes me angry. The rain turns to ice, and then it stops. All of it. Immediately, the clouds part, and the sky gets lighter. It’s done, all of it.

There is tons of damage, and I’m falling from the sky, from above, to the ground. You run to catch me, through it all. But I slip from your grip, you’re wet, and I’m on the ground, bleeding, broken, demented, tortured.

You grab some sunlight and toss it on my body.

I wake up, walking on broken bones. I smile, and we laugh. I pretend nothing happened.

You don’t notice I’m broken, chipped, battered. It goes unspoken.

No, I am not fine. I’m shit. But you think everything is, because after every little thing you know of me, you act like you don’t know that I’m burning slowly on the inside. You act like you can’t reach me.

Oh, but I want you to so badly. I want you to be there. You never can.

I go forward, the bones slowly clicking back into place. I mend on my own.

The clouds are left dark, but a storm won’t come anytime soon. Not for a long time.

Thunder rolls in the distant, and I’m cold. This time, I hope it isn’t me.

I shake off your help, it’s too late. You stop trying. I stop caring.

Rain water makes a splashing sound against my tennis every time I take a step.