✿

April showers bring May flowers,

so in the desert we make do,

mascara rain and broken things,

girl-turned-thunderstorm,

planting tears like prose across the back of each hand

where they ripple between shaking breaths.

She is ugly when she cries,

like the clouds this time of year,

but nothing grows from nothing,

and to water dreams with grief

is better than watering them with nothing at all.