Some days the rain just pours and pours
'til my leaves wilt away and my petals shatter,
'til my stalk gets waterlogged and bends and breaks,
and my roots become shriveled and battered.
And yet still I lie here, waiting for the sun,
that will surely mend my woes.
She'll lift my face and kiss my head
to remind me that rain helps me grow.
YOU ARE READING
Ghostwriter
PoetryLiving with mental illness can oftentimes trap one within the inner maze of their mind. In that place, dreams, fears, wishes, and regrets all compile together to create a new world far from the one we physically exist in. At times, it becomes easy t...
