It’s the dandelions that grow outside my old middle school
It’s the cool spring rain as it drips on my skin
The bringer of storms
Of performance and athleticism
Of taking the chances
And making the mistakes
It’s the bringer of new beginnings
And the healing of old wounds that we so furiously picked away at
It’s ripping of that bandaid
And leaving it off
It’s the chance that you finally know something is wrong
After so many seasons and years going by
Of me telling you
It’s the time I lost everything at one point
And the other where I had so much to gain
Sometimes it’s it all working out and sometimes it’s pain
But all shall be washed away by the cool spring rain
Atlas Ez Poetry 