Rain

The rain begins to fall outside. I can already smell the wet grass seep through the cold glass windows. I see the puddles. I hear the deep rumble. I can almost feel the rushing force of liquid around my feet. But I stay inside.

 

Waiting for the “right moment”.

it hasn’t come yet.

 

The overwhelming expanse of time. I am not able to drown out the echoing voices that tried and failed before me. But I have this unexplainable energy trembling inside me. Hoping for something to finally happen. To me. It’s still raining but I am caged, locked in by comfort.

 

I sit, continuing to wait. It still hasn’t come.

 

I remember the people who told me to do “whatever”. They seemed uninterested until my “whatever” began to uncomfortably shift their balance of apathy and fear and power. But what about the ones who made it? I see a few of them splashing and laughing outside. Can I join them? They inspire a faint memory, maybe it’s a wish. Was I one of them once?

 

Should I?

 

and then the stream of questions enter. What if I… What would they… How could I…

To hell with the questions? Life is passing me by

 

Is it worth it?

 

Acting without thinking for once. Just throwing myself entirely in. Deep down I long to splash in the rain but I have suppressed it for so long I forgot how. The door stands open. But I can see just fine through the windows. Is it better to venture into the storm or to stay inside? warm and dry and brittle

 

Maybe I can be the one who changes things. I should. I really should. but

 

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741