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Maria Sep 2011
it's raining again.
the pitter patter of the rain
is like my heart rattling in my chest
its raining again.
when it rains, i think.
dont we all?
dont we all become pensive when we look out
the window
to see rain
it's raining again,
and when it rains
i'm reminded of you.
i smell the muddy ground
and the worms. the smell of rain is so distinct isn't it
i went from talking about you to worms
i wonder why.
when it rains
my hair gets really frizzy
you used to like it when it looked like that
but now i just put it up
when it rains.
i look outside and see the rain drops on my window
fall so slowly,
i watch one descend, and as it does,
it picks up more and more little guys
to become a big drop.
a super rain drop.
until it explodes on the window sill.
i watch this over and over again
until i realize i forgot about you
and my frizzy hair
but then i remember i remembered.
it's still raining.
i wonder when it will stop.
if the constant pitter patter of the drops ceases,
does that mean the rattling will too?
rain and me are not one.
we used to be.
it's silly the things you think when it rains.
it's raining again.
i keep thinking.
it will stop.
it will stop.
but then it doesnt.
those poor drowned worms.
i hope they can swim.
you were a good swimmer.
there i go again.
worms to you.
the rain is slowing.
i listen
i hear crickets.
i realize my hair is hurting
up like that,
so i take it down.
and then i realize,
thanks to the crickets,
i think silence
and forgot about
the worms.
Maria Sep 2011
i wrote a poem about you.
i tried to anyways.
i started writing
and each time was unable to finish.
i just kept erasing.
turning over the page
time after time
crumpled mess after mess
i feel like im drowning
in ink.
i pretend that i will see your face
or feel you
or hear you
but then i remember
none of that can happen
these words are so empty
they don't say anything
im unable to see through the dark
to find a light
worth holding
im unable to find something new
amongst the old and ugly
i cant find things without you around
to tell me what to look for.
how sad is that
i write with my eyes closed because i dont have to see
the empty page
i dont have to see the black ink flood the paper
i can write what is inside.
its hard
to be alone
when you were used to being two.
its hard to pick up and move on
but you gotta
who likes being stuck
to the pavement.
it gets pretty hot there under the sun.
without you
my eyes are less green
i handed my heart over
in a box
with a key
but i lost the key
and  i dont know who has it
i wrote you a poem
but i still can't find an ending
cause i don't believe there is one

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