It's not as if I haven't
cried enough...

I've done more than
my fair share...

I'm actually quite experienced
in that department...

It's almost a certainty,
that if you look at me,
you can see the
remnants of wetness;
the watery streaks
on these windows of emotion
that are often shrouded by black curtains...

And as the rain
pours
down
and
down
and
down
flooding the gutters
from behind the shutters

do you wonder what fuels
my own personal storm?

Does it take a flood to create concern?
Does it take sandbags upon sandbags of blatant
blindness to cause you not to see that something is
definitely

not

right?

What will it take to make you break down
and finally ask me
"what's wrong?"

Show me that you
want to know
why I'm not
What you want me to be