February 26, 2010
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Drizzle drip down my window.
The streams rush down not knowing where to go.
The puddles grow and don’t stop.
Rolling down my cheek is nothing more than a tear drop.
Every raindrop has its own special place.
It has such beauty, and grace.
But where do I belong?
Where’s my love song?
A crowd to call mine.
I’m always on the wrong side of the base line.

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brax34 This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Jun. 26, 2010 at 11:41 am
i like it, except the rythm doesn't seem quite right for me
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