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robynPoems
It always rains here Puddles form in the valleys of the cracked pavement The flimsy gutters snap and stick out like broken fingers Water flowing in choppy patterns Slapping loudly against the slick ground Water always falls where we walk Our shoes are always wet Raindrops break though the cold, thick fog that creeps down our throats We always happen to forget our umbrellas When it rains all day, I look at the grey blanket of a sky And think its eyes must hurt terribly Thanking God we brought our jackets We converge in the 20 by 20 Linoleum floored room Hidden away behind the mossy brick walls that catch the rain We sit in places where the floor is less wet Letting out hair dry and hands warm Against the wheezing old heater Which two lucky ******** use as a seat Heads crack against the old porcelain water fountain And feet trip over the wobbly doorstops We carve our names in the walls And scuff our shoes on the floor I bury my nose in the dusty pages of a book And laugh halfheartedly when someone calls my name We huddle like penguins in the Arctic That's Seattle I suppose And we have never been happier, I think.
0
Nov 19, 2012
Nov 19, 2012 at 10:08 PM UTC
Might As Well Be Underwater
It always rains here Puddles form in the valleys of the cracked pavement The flimsy gutters snap and stick out like broken fingers Water flowing in choppy patterns Slapping loudly against the slick ground Water always falls where we walk Our shoes are always wet Raindrops break though the cold, thick fog that creeps down our throats We always happen to forget our umbrellas When it rains all day, I look at the grey blanket of a sky And think its eyes must hurt terribly Thanking God we brought our jackets We converge in the 20 by 20 Linoleum floored room Hidden away behind the mossy brick walls that catch the rain We sit in places where the floor is less wet Letting out hair dry and hands warm Against the wheezing old heater Which two lucky ******** use as a seat Heads crack against the old porcelain water fountain And feet trip over the wobbly doorstops We carve our names in the walls And scuff our shoes on the floor I bury my nose in the dusty pages of a book And laugh halfheartedly when someone calls my name We huddle like penguins in the Arctic That's Seattle I suppose And we have never been happier, I think.
robyn
Written by
robyn
American
Nov 19, 2012
Nov 19, 2012 at 10:08 PM UTC
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