It's raining Precipitation I did not foresee The clouds have been there, but when did they grow dark? When did they grow heavy, laden with this buried pain? Kept at bay, the vault to be forgotten Yet here you are, bringing forth the rain Why couldn't you just have stayed safely locked away? Yet it's not all bad, the rain brings comfort, that of familiar sorrow "There may be pain in the night, but joy comes in the morning." It's a terrifying thought, yet a dream I cling to: joy, happiness. We fear the unknown and these things are just that. Though I await the rising sun, I cannot hearken for the morrow.
She learned from a young age that Rage, Anger, Defiance, Meant nothing. Not to her Nor to others. So she kept silent As silent as the sun can When she's raging in the vacuum of space. Her eyes would ***** with tears And her jaw would clench in frustration. But she'd rather stare into hell and cut off her tongue before it meant anything. She is a patient woman they say, She is a proper lady She is as passive as a flower And as kind as sunlight after a thunderstorm. She is a balm to the suffering and to the evil. She is God's child. But I have thorns I can burn you I can drown you
She has a child’s temper In a woman’s body. She weeps alone, Rages alone, Starves alone. She quietens her struggle And pretends she is only marble. Grief is an option And Anger is a choice. She chooses neither So she feels nothing.
How she would like to Yell and scream! How she would like to hurt, To let go And hold on selfishly to her happiness. Freedom is an option too. She does not choose it.