I look out the window and see a blurry vision of the sun.
I step outside, turn my tear-streaked face up to the sky and curse it.
I’m depressed but it shines on, unaware of my pain and agony.
It’s laughing and it’s happy; I’m sad but it doesn’t care.
Later on the clouds roll in, the rain comes down.
The raindrops are my tears, the sky is my mind, clouded with emotions.
The color of the sky reflects my mood: a dark, dark gray.
The storm is me, or at least very much like me.
It understands me, it cries for me, instead of laughing like the sun.
The rain beats down, creating a steady hum in my head.
As the storm cries for me and I cry for myself,
The clouds dissipate and move on, as do the clouds in my mind.
Finally, the last drop falls and the last sob is released;
The sky turns a lighter gray for there is no more rain.
My mood lightens for there are no more tears;
The storm has released me.

1997