Riptide

Rainy Days

how come when flowers are covered in raindrops, it only increases their beauty
when it rains, the air smells better,
the grass grows greener?

but for some reason, although I've been walking around, with a raincloud hanging above my hair, for years,

I have yet to find an ounce of beauty inside of myself

it's not fair.

the rain makes everything beautiful, except me.

nothing could ever do that.

All the storm has done is make my heart heavier, my eyelids heavier, my body heavier.

it's made my eyes grow flatter and the skin below them darker,

my fingers are pruned away and the skin is pealing from them,

the wounds on my legs have grown grey, infected,

the ice water has made my scars pucker and my skin raise in goosebumps

the rainfall has collected in my stomach, my thighs, my shoulders, my chin, expanding them, as though they were sponges

the waters finding it way inside me, building up inside my very own lungs like a rain barrel

I'm dying from exposure,

yet I'm surrounded by those who aren't,
encircled by those living under sunlight
by those who can't tell,
who can't see.