I was told to write a poem
about my favourite kind of weather
and why.
For most kids this would be easy.

They like the sunshine because
they can go to the park and
play with their friends.

But it was never that simple for me.

I looked out the window
and the grey sky and drizzling rain,
and I thought to myself,
"Why don't I like sunny days like that?"
Why was I the one kid in the third grade
that would rather have one million
dreary weather days than one hundred sunny?

So I wrote about liking sunny days
where I could play at the park with my friends.
And the teacher liked it
and the class liked it
and I hated it.
I didn't understand why I wrote about
some thing that I hated,
mostly because I didn't know
why I hated them.

As I got older, I hoped that one day,
I'd decide to love the sun.
But years passed and I only
grew closer to the clouds.
Foggy forests and
misty mountains
were what I dreamed of every night,
where the clouds were so close
I could touch them.

As I got older,
kids started to get mean.
They noticed that I didn't like
sunshine and sports
or tanning and nailpolish
and they noticed
that made me voulnerable.

So every night I'd dream
about the clouds
lifiting the weight off my shoulders,
but never lifitng me.

As time went on, it got worse.
A recess reject in elementary,
a passing time passerby in High school.
I learned the skill of invisibility.
and they treated me like mist;
like I was hardly even there.
A minor inconvinience.

So one night, when the fog
was especially low,
I re-read my poem
about parks and sunshine,
and I cried.

That was the night
that when the fog finally lifted,
I'd gone with it.