When it rains


When those tears
wield up,
with shaky hands
I brush her aside.

When she seeks freedom
from the bottle,
I shut her out.

Why must she flow now?
Why must she bare my heart
to a waiting world
known for mockery
than for helping.

But then,
when she fights for freedom
I let her have her right.

If she must flow
to clean my heart,
let her flow into the
open arms of rivers.

Let her rush freely
not minding mockery.

Let her gush out
into the deep pool of courage
unaided by pity.

When the tears seek freedom,
let her have it.
It’s all she has
to prove she lives on.


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