Raindrops keep falling in the weirdest places. 
Behind my sunglasses, 
down my lips, 
as If it wants to recreate a feeling I know all too well. 
When teardrops burst through the ceiling
telling stories of my personal hell. 
Or maybe it’s my heaven 
since I keep seeing 
angels numbered 7 
as if I’ve hit the lotto after escaping
the situations I’m dreading going back to. 
And I pray that I won’t 
and I work hard so I don’t 
but the logic in my head 
knows that I will.
and it’s the right side of my brain
that wants God to take the wheel,
but the left side 
keeps reminding me 
that they can’t take it if I’m not here.
and both of them argue
every chance they get
not a moment of silence
just endless noise that
makes me lose track of time.
but i was never good at it to begin with.
the same way I'm no good at distance
but if i wanted to i could fake it
and major in business.
oh wait...
i did.
and that got me nowhere.
and yeah it’s pessimistic 
but i need a break from being realistic
because everything’s too real
while also grossly fake
and rain keeps falling
on clear blue days.

You can find the written poem on my blog. — This episode is sponsored by · Anchor: The easiest way to make a podcast. https://anchor.fm/app — Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/storiesbynoelle/message Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/storiesbynoelle/support

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