The Stoop

Standing on the stoop

dripping from the downpour

released from this unrelenting storm

With drenched curls plastered against my face

I wait for an answer

a sign that someone inside

has heard my pleading knock

As I stand there with clothing suctioned to me

I ask myself why am I here?

The answer thunders in my mind

as a deep-set rumble echoes in the sky

You needed a safe place

a friendly face

a loving embrace.

Ugh, why am I so needy?

I should be here with my mind focused on you

Your well-being. Not me.

A body stands behind the door slowly it opens

I hear myself apologizing for the late hour

asking if you are there

“Nope. Not here.”

I nod my head

hand over the pad of paper I have somehow kept dry in the surrounding down pour

I turn on my heel

head back into the raging torrents

loneliness engulfs me

penetrating far deeper than the rain

it is here that I see as much as I try to resist it

I am a misfit

So out of place

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