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I need a rainy day, but not the cold kind. The kind that happens on a summer day where you can sit outside all day on the back porch watching it-- but, we don’t do that anymore. I can hear the rain falling, every drop, as the fists swing. I knew it wouldn’t stop. I knew the only thing I could do was fight it, but how are you supposed to fight the rain. Every word is lightning, striking through every nerve in my body. You know I’m the one with the sharp tongue, but you continue to strike, Mr. Lightning. Why do you like so much to hurt me? It seems that the storm is above my head, it follows me, throughout the house . . . there is no escape. I don’t know what I did to make the rain love me so much.
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Mar 28, 2013
Mar 28, 2013 at 12:11 PM UTC
A poem about rain
I need a rainy day, but not the cold kind. The kind that happens on a summer day where you can sit outside all day on the back porch watching it-- but, we don’t do that anymore. I can hear the rain falling, every drop, as the fists swing. I knew it wouldn’t stop. I knew the only thing I could do was fight it, but how are you supposed to fight the rain. Every word is lightning, striking through every nerve in my body. You know I’m the one with the sharp tongue, but you continue to strike, Mr. Lightning. Why do you like so much to hurt me? It seems that the storm is above my head, it follows me, throughout the house . . . there is no escape. I don’t know what I did to make the rain love me so much.
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Mar 28, 2013
Mar 28, 2013 at 12:11 PM UTC
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