There's something so
delicious
about getting caught
in a summer storm,
the chilled water droplets
penetrating the outer layers
of clothing,
soaking the overheated body
with unexpected
refreshment.

I heard all the squeals
and screams,
cries toward the sky
to close its open mouth,
to stop spitting down
on them
as they ran,
ducking cars,
looking for a rooftop
makeshift
umbrella.

I chortled
not so discreetly,
extending my arms
side to side
to catch the droplets
on my bare skin.

The rain felt so ****
as it slid down
my forehead,
slipping
slowly
across my lips,
sneaking down below,
into the crew cut
of my shirt.

Two blocks away from home,
most of the runners had run by,
the rest huddling below
the entrance to various shops
and bars,
I walked by, paying the stares no mind,
sporting a purported
half-crazed look,
while I truly exuded
exuberance,
ebullience,
liveliness.

The pouring
turned to
pittering, pattering,
gentle kisses from the
beads,
letting up just as I
approached my door,
like the universe knew,
and it let me
dance home
in the rain
before the sky shut its
wide-toothed grin,
and the storm was gone.

The raindrops felt refreshing
As they splattered gently
Down my arms
That loosely gripped
My half-busted umbrella.
My shoes splished and
Splashed,
Not even bothering to
Avoid
The puddles,
Ruby red of my moccasins
Dyeing the skin on my feet
As the liquid
Soaked in.
The rainwater felt cool,
But my flannel hugged me tightly,
Breaking up the
Onset of goosebumps.
The trees and grassy lawns
Illuminated a bright green,
Lapping up the raindrops
Thirstily into their wide mouths.
With no guide,
My dampened feet lead their
Own way
Down streets and roads,
Diagonals, bobbing and
Weaving
Through the city limits.
No fear, stomach dropping,
For I knew
I would find my way.
Peaceful afternoon,
Rain dancing down from
The cloud-filled sky;
I wandered deep into a
Blissful promenade.

You never hit me.
But your insults punched me in the gut.
You never beat me.
But your words tore through my insides.
You never choked me.
But your distrust suffocated me.
You never spat on me.
But your condescension swallowed me.
You never broke my bones.
But your lies broke my liveliness.
You never stabbed me.
But the names you called me cut my heart open.

You never struck me.
But you left me,
My confidence,
My heart,
My spirit,
You left it
Mangled
Bruised
Contorted
Defenseless
Broken,
Fifty
Stories
Be­low
The
Rooftop
You
Called
Your
Love.

New city.
New people.
New places.
New faces.
New adventure.
New me.
I knew new was what I needed.
But the stomach dropping
head spinning
anxiety ridden
fear of crying
mind jumbled
even though
I knew better
made me hesitant of new.

Newspapers and headlines,
all the new is mine
to write my own stories
trials
tribulations
fears
hopes
dreams.
Who knew new
would be so hard
and so easy
all at once?

The train flies
at a seemingly never endless speed,
as my mind races simultaneously
                 along the tracks,
           bobbing and weaving,
                       churning along
as I attempt to discover
which stop I will take,
which place I will make
the home of newfound self identity,
unraveled mysteries.

Gazing down
on sleepy towns,
transparent sky,
high above

Down below are the workers,
the daughters,
the smokers,
the bank robbers

On I soar,
hearing the jet engine roar,
and thousands of feet beneath,
the partiers are still drowning in
deep sleep

Flying by
as lovers exchange a kiss,
a lonely man cries,
a doctor mending a broken wrist

Downward gazing,
burnouts blazing,
artists creating,
blooming vegetation,
streets full of
imagination, fascination,
devastation,  miscalculations,
faces, races, places, nations;

Peering down from the heavens;
the view is
amazing.

Puffy white clouds
whisping by,
thousands
and
thousands
of
feet
above my hometown,
I gaze
out the
rectangular
viewing screen
hungrily,
choking back tears,
revisiting the
farewells;
on the beacon of
adventure,
riding the aircraft
away from
what was,
only to return
anew,
fully in bloom.