When it Rains
Only when it rains do I remember what the world has almost crushed completely out of me.
That I wanted to be a writer
And when my family drove landscapes were stories
and words were weapons that let long haired heroines fight or flee
I remember waxing stories in my head
surrounded by a jungle and a garden where fairies could sleep
With white shutters and windowboxes
You could dip a pen into my head and
write until you died and you wouldn’t finish using all the ink of ideas that I thought.
Only when it rains do I remember that witches was a delicious rebellious feeling
and that crunch of leaves under my boot could just as easily be followed by the swish of a cloak as I thought of magic spells.
And I remember learning that a bad guy wasn’t always a bad guy because they wanted to be.
I used to think I could be a writer
Before the world crushed me with stones the size of houses.
and smashed my head against the wall until my thoughts were dangerous and that a bad guy didn’t sound like such a bad person to be.
Only when it rains does the world seem soft.
Only when it rains do I remember that I never used to be this sad.