Promise

Promise
You are the rain
Dripping on my pain/pane.
Do not wash my dirt away.
This grime is my protection.
A few streaks,
Only at my discretion,
Are you allowed to make
On my glass contained rage.
And you do not want to see
What I have buried in this dust.
Drip drop on and on
But only if you must
And you think you can handle
My neediness, my emptiness.
If you uncover me
Promise to pretend
That you like my unread poetry.

About m

My ego wants to think I'm a writer but my heart knows I'm just another one of God's Kids who sometimes has words to say. 2 human kids and 3 feline kids call me Mom. Or Mooooooom. Or mewom, depending which you ask. I'm kinda-sorta busy being a student again; this time I signed myself up for a bizarre torture known as Graduate School. Theoretically in 4ish years I'll have earned some more nice letters to put with my name. Let's face it, I'm addicted to learning and probably need rehab to restore me to sanity and remove the obsession to read books. I don't remember what free time is but I think I like to spend it sleeping or playing in the mud on a river bank.
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