It’s raining but I’m not getting wet.
Is this my first or my last cigarette?
Were I to count back the moments to when we met,
it would be over a hundred, I bet.
One for when, in the lake, we were bare.
Another: the shower we’d sneakily share.
A hard one’s the tears of your pregnancy scare.
And the time when rain settled in your hair.
But now it’s raining and I’m not wet.
I just lit my first cigarette.
You haven’t answered my messages yet,
and you’re with him in a place I can’t get.
Is he the deep pool of calm that I know you seek,
the ticket to waves of appearance so sleek?
Masculinity pours out to cover the weak,
and you awash in compliance, so meek.
It’s raining all day; I can’t get wet.
I swear this fag’s had her last cigarette.
Had it been up to me I’d never have let
you in, and I’d have no regret.
Do you meet me, M’sippi, where I am?
Cause’ I’m not one to have visions,
the voices that I hear say nothin grand.
So I wait for the depths of you to flow
just like anointed oil to my mind.
I can’t find ya, M’sippi, in the bend.
But I hope that in your broadness,
you’ll widen out and find me in the end.
And then the things I do will make me whole,
the God I love will be the God that stays.
Just swallow me, M’sippi, flood today.
Before I get a boat, and it’s too late.
First and foremost, like any good anonymous writer, I have a lot of fears. Of failure and rejection, sure. But even more so of success and fame.
I also long to be better, and I think maybe that happens for me when I let go. Since I’m bad at that, Suny can do it for me. She really doesn’t care what people think.
And then, maybe I have some secrets too.