When i look at a puddle of water—i see my teardrops,
stained on the sidewalk for the world to see.
It’s like therapy, for the deep thinkers,
Those who take the time to stop and stare
Those who notice things outside the ordinary
Those who can realize and accept the unsuccessful, the lonely,
And those who aren’t afraid to admit that things need to change
They are the bystanders of the universe,
Seeing the very same puddle of water that I see,
The very same puddle.
A puddle of water with its own thoughts, its own feelings,
Its own place in this world.
That puddle of water tells a story,
Unlike any one that’s ever been told
It tells the story of every tear shed by every person
Who dared to step in this very spot
Who dared brave out the crowd of unbelievers
And stare at that puddle without any shame
We are all survivors, all believers and unbelievers,
For we, too, have stepped on that puddle.
We too have shed tears for those just like us.
We are puddles of water, stained onto the sidewalks,
Wearing our emotions on our sleeves.
Like clouds pouring rain,
We pour emotion, sincerity,
Tears.