The sun makes me feel like a failure.
I do not know why.
I have no stories about it,
Or metaphors to give you.
I do not like to be warm.
I do not like things dry.
I do not like things bright.
I like the rain because it actually touches you
It doesn't just tempt you like the sun.
If the sun touched you,
You would die.
The sun is homicidal.
It just doesn't commit the murders.
I have yet to decide if that is out of laziness,
Or compassion.
Maybe it is both.
I'll go with both.

I was always weirdly rebellious as a child.
As a teen I never pierced my tongue,
Snuck boys over the house,
Or stole candy bars from the convenience store.
Not me, when I was little
I would refuse to take my naps.
I'd fake sleeping and then sit there and hum to myself,
Waiting for my matka to come back and check on me.
I cut my own bangs,
Even when I was five.
Even when I was five the day before school pictures.
Matka wasn't pleased.
I didn't want to learn the Polish I was being taught.
I wanted to be different.
I didn't want chocolate milk like everyone else.
I wanted plain milk,
Not sweet milk.
Everyone liked sweets.
I didn't like the sun,
Because everyone liked the sun.
I liked the rain.
I wanted to be different.
My favorite word was podnóżek.
Do not be fooled,
It is nothing pretty.
It means footrest.
I liked it because it was different.
I wanted to be a rebel.
The coolest rebel of all.
One who fakes her naps, cuts her hair, drinks plain milk, and enjoys the word footrest.
The coolest rebel of all.