Sometimes, Underneath The Mad Rain Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

Sometimes underneath the
Mad rain, I render my hands
Naked as I feel each sear
Of the rain pierce through my
Integument:

There are no rooms for grandeur
Only a breath that is non sequitur
To the walking and breathing
And living and dancing of the people
As they stay young while I rot
Inside my skin like the truth that
You keep with the derision of contempt.

Underneath the mad rain
I make solemn vows:
Never again
Will I let them scathe me
In a dank submission
Never again
Will I make myself bare
To the rapacious
Hands of acquiescence
And finicky romance
Until a fragmented soul
Came to complete
Who I was

And I ended up facing
The mirrors, seeing
A tiger feeding on his
Own body.