Not having to rely, or share the burden of your problems with others, no matter how big or small they may seem, because the world pushes everyone down, and everyone has their own problems, but getting up again is just a part of life and being independant.

The cold air covers me much like a blanket,
The cold rain pierces my skin much like many tiny daggers.
My umberella swings, from right to left, left to right,
Rubbing my wrist raw.
Instead of covering myself in the sanctuary of my small, black umberella,
That could blow away with the soft, soft wind - barely audible... barely there.
I let the raindrops fall hard upon my hair, that now sticks to my face,
Just to hide the tears.
It's easier than having to explain,
Why I get caught up and bought down by the smallest of things.

The End

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