I'm listening to the calming audio of rain in the warming light of night
despite it being so dark, I feel enchanted
My feet were so small then, pittering around
my mother is on the epicenter of the rainbow carpet
Picking up the phone
Oh how he sounds warbled
He will kill himself if you don't come back
I think he's 43 or older
And I stop swaying, stop dancing to the calming audio of rain
And maybe we're young
Maybe we're all young
But I only know my thin limbs and cartoon pajamas
the hard rainbow fibers melding to my soles as my mother possibly glares at me
but I like the audio, the rain.
Maybe when I'm not so pained, I'm more demented
Maybe when I'm looking back I see surreal art
That I call that young because of the wet smell of rain
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PoetryTW' trauma dumping read this in an accent, thank you. Yes, all thoughts are authentic but never original. This kills me, so I search. It would kill me less if all authenticity didn't claim healing is a forgetting through the passage of time. That t...
