Weakness

When I had no place to go, your door was closed.

 And when I knocked, I heard it lock.

So I let the rain cover me, and as it flows with my tears,

I know that I will soon have to face the mirrors.

And what I will see is a lonesome, yet independent me.

But no, not now. Look away,

 I'll let my burns turn to scars as I pray that someday the marks of weakness will someday fade.