NaPoWriMo - Poem 3 - Wringing True

Wringing True

Must be my inner raincloud,
Trying to get out.
That miserable dishcloth
That’s been about since I was young,
Blocking out my inner sun and
Soaking up each goddam ray,
A smoky thing that pisses
Grey, its coke-like kisses
Stinging, wringing curses and dismay...

My mucky puddle eyes reflect
The murky drizzle
In my depths that lets my freckles
Grow from specks to
Massive resevoirs.

My murky wishwash smile implies
Some inner grey
That seeps through sighs
As weeping for no reason
I recede to my boudoir.

My inner cloud’s
A dishcloth veil that hides all trace of sun...
I wish that I could smile, my face
A clear
And not a clouded
One.

But that, I cannot do. And yet -
Raincloud, greycloud
Dismal as a frown, I’ve found
That only you
Wring true.