When I was little I didn't understand why it rained.
I thought clouds got sad and cried.
I always wondered what made them sad.
Maybe it was because the sun got more attention.
Or maybe because everyone liked the sun more.
Once you think about it,
we're the clouds.
Hiding inside of us are raging storms.
Every tear is another raindrop.
We're the ones with less attention.
The one's darker than others.
Holding the secrets only we know.
Liked less than others.
We're the ones no one understands.

It seems as if the things you call us are who we truly are.
But that's not true.
We aren't just the failures.
Or the dropouts.
We aren't ruining society.
Society is ruining us.
It makes us believe that we're never good enough.
Or small enough.
Or pretty enough.
But the things they say don't define us.

When I was young, writing came easily.
Once about the spaghetti I ate for dinner
or the clothes I wore to school
or the new bike I got for my 6th birthday.
But as I grew up,
I realized
that's not how life is.
Life isn't always dinner with a family.
Or brand new clothes.
Or a bike that your father once taught you to ride.
Now it's about the new boy in school.
The one 2 desks away from you,
the one your father wouldn't approve of.
It's about the disgusting cafeteria food you're forced to eat alone
It's about the car that you have to learn to drive.
With no father by your side.