He carries an umbrella if there is <br />More than a fifty precent chance of rain. <br />If it pours, I just get wet, <br />And stomp in mud puddles for good measure. <br />He thinks his words out carefully <br />Before he ever opens his mouth, <br />Where I am ruled by emotion and say things <br />Without thinking at all, <br />Then find myself constantly making amends. <br />He is linear and I am abstract. <br />Sometimes I wish I could be more like him, <br />More sensible, logical, realistic-grounded. <br />Normal. <br />But I think with my heart, and react from my gut, <br />And my head usually has little to do <br />With any of my major decisions. <br />I wonder sometimes if he looks down on me, <br />Thinks I'm insane, being the way I am. <br />Yeah-he probably does. <br />I can't say I blame him. <br />As a child, while my classmates <br />Were learning equations, I was busy, <br />Gazing out windows, and letting <br />My imagination run wild. <br />I still do that. All the time. <br />But...poetry doesn't make him weep, <br />And great art doesn't send his heart racing, <br />The way it does mine. <br />And I wouldn't trade that, <br />Not for all the common sense in the world. <br />So there it is, when it comes down to it, <br />I like who I am just fine, <br />And I respect, and admire who he is too, <br />Very much so, and I don't want to change him, <br />I just wish...I just wish... <br />He'd stomp in a mud puddle now and then.<br /><br />Sandra Brennan<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/mud-puddles/
