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Writer's picturedreaming of lulu

Monet & Renoir never painted Hurricanes


an oak is strong year-round

roots planted firmly in the Earth

doesn’t sway when Mother says it’s time to play.


a flower dances too soon

with the wind she’ll up and leave you blue

but her petals will come back each May

and you’ll compare every blossom to that of Monet


a cloud will whisper what no one should ever say

exactly what they mean and no,

they won't hesitate


they’ll stir up hell on you when you’ve got 'em fed up

there’s no such thing as a cloud bein' willin' to fill yo' cup


strong, sturdy

you say

like an oak in its 30's

but an ole fashion swing would break you down like a mosquito in a hurricane


fly away and try and come back to say,

i meant to do it that way.

no, no you didn’t

no oak tree can be that inconsistent


maybe instead just one of ‘em tiny sticks got broke off it's limb

and got shoved a little too far


for you are as delicate as a study of the trees by Renoir


roots were never buried deep, and no connection to all you wished you could be

decisions were made from yesterday

let's make up words to protect the ego and never agree


because trust was an outdated tune

and when you woke to hear me singin' my blues

you decided love wasn't enough to keep your promise from those summer afternoons


you deserved that little flower blossom that was planted under your tree

ain't my fault she chopped you down and burned you each winter

so excuse me, for comin' in with a rain shower to say


"i love you

and i'd like to stay"


always

too much water

was too cold

or too hot


found you was asking too much of a cloud

asked me to go away and act like i didn't water you each day

encouraged you grow

grow those roots deeper so that when She came

you would know how to say


"No."


silly me for a thinkin' that way

found myself turn to a cloud of disdain

that caused you so much pain


pain my ass

only thing you could ever be is a


pain

in

my

ass.


but it's okay

i set out pretty pitchers yesterday

so when that rainstorm comes in

i'll sit with some tea

and watch her pour all her lovin' fo' me


and hope that her lightning will strike that fragile oak

that talked too much and never meant enough

and burn that fucker away


to dust


until he could learn

maybe I should listen up

to what others got to say

not be so in my head

and learn to soften it up


no excuses under my roof

and my roof is the whole damn sky

so show yourself out

i don’t need your complainin'

or your rainin'


there's a reason i'm bad at waterin' plants

i don't give enough of a damn about somethin' that can't understand


for an oak don't know romance.


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