whiny weed

It's a dark and stormy one.  
I'm getting rain-whispers through the window,  
and thunder bangs on the walls.  
 
I want to luxuriate in the moody slime  
of this afternoon.  
 
But my fucking roommate  
is singing something stupid at the the top of her lungs  
there in the living room.  
My roommate -  
my best friend, mind you, who I will always love -  
 
is WHISTLING,  
 
wiping out the rainy peace.  
 
I notice that random rage  
and step back from it -  
we sing all the time.  
We howl together in the living room  
and make the dog whine.  
Why, suddenly,  
must the entire world stop on my dime?  
 
A weed I need to pick  
has sprung up in my mind.  
 
It's ugly.  
It spread too far.  
I, of all people,  
I got excited about being just two -  
being as close as y'all have gotten;  
I wanted that fusion of daily lives.  
I regressed,  
found myself a little kid  
pouting now that it's not necessarily  
my turnnnnnn.  
What a hideous whine.    
 
I need to grow up.  
The only thing I should cling to is surrender.  
 
I will never lose  
my raw material -  
my ability to sing with my heart,  
make room, make patience -  
harmonize,  
 
but a weed I need to pick  
has sprung up in my mind.  
 
I'll make sure to get it by the roots  
this time.