It's about being broken enough
to where scars are reminders
of the days you could remember
exactly what hurt
**you.

there is nothing more to do but let the rain pour. it is pointless to try but we all try pointless things in the hope that they won't be for us. we throw umbrellas to the sky in anger and stamp in puddles out of frustration.

"IT JUST NEVER LISTENS!"
"IT JUST NEVER TRIES!"

from throats that are filled with apathy but momentarily outraged.
we think it will be different.
we try to make be different.
we start begging it to be different.
yet

It still rains.
(and we are at a loss.)

Grief is not a simile.
It's a metaphor.
It's not crashing like the rocks of the mountains
But falling above, destroying the peak with your body and finding the last parts of your soul in the new creases. The magma beneath becomes your breath and you fear to speak for eruption paints scars you'll leave behind. The new land you'd never thought you'd see becomes the land you used to be. You don't need light but feel the rocks made of you under your feet. You are not like stone. You are stone You are granite You are obsidian you are every unflinching untouchable unfeeling thing.
Grief is not a simile
**Grief is a metaphor.