Anxiety Downpour

Count.

How many times does it rain in your country?

Multiply that by three

You have the number of times

A teenager night-sobs in a month.

Calculate the number of raindrops

Clinging to the laundry wire

Flower petals or fresh grass

Multiply it by three

You have the teardrop count of that very teenager

From the last time she cried,

So every time it rains I run out the door

And shake the wire mercilessly

Wipe flower petals and grass-blades

For as long as they aren't completely rid of the rain.

I don’t want to think about teenagers

Screaming into their nap time

Eyes stinging.

I want to think about the teenager

Who wraps a fleece

And carries the power of healing on her shoulders

Who has venom-cold eyes to scare away any man in the vicinity

Because she learned sexual assault too soon in life

To isolate violence from courtesy,

Who has a doomsday smile

And thinks nudity is fucking amazing,

Who gives foot massages to her grandmother

Going on and on about

Domestic abuse slash broken arms,

Who wonders about the broke-down romance

Blooming in the heart of monsoon

When rain plants a kiss on the soil

Since the concept of matter is a little bizarre for her paint-splattered spirit.

The last time my cousin cried

I assured her that life evens out for everybody

I painted on her skin

Asked her to never pause midway in love,

The last time I painted

I threw up chaos on the skin.

Black over white.

White over blue.

Black over blue.

John Mayer played on the stereo

As a forest fire broke out in the pit of my heart

Question marks jutting out from every vein.

It’s a roll of white paper inside me

Running from the heart to the brain

Scavenging for a single sand particle of self-understanding

To throw into gear 

Because each time anxiety crash-lands through a human body

My empathy runs wild on the streets.