Mr. Rain

It was Saturday morning and I looked out the window.
I saw the clouds rush in, the blue skies disappeared
and the darkness conquered.
A chill raced through the air and the bumps on my skin grew.
I cuddled in my skimpy clothes refusing a jacket.

I looked to the sky. It was about to rain
on what was supposed to be a beautiful summer day,
when the birds sing, children play and a smile on every face.
My mood dampened and these thoughts rushed to my mind.
If Mr. Rain was a person, what would I say?

I would say, please Mr. Rain, don't steal my sunshine!
For three months, I shivered and clenched my teeth.
For three months, my heart was heavy and deepened with sadness.
Please, I beg, don't steal my sunshine in the summer.

Let my skin bake in the sun. Let the warm air fill my lungs.
Let me exhale. Let the sunshine be with every soul
so that the earth may be filled with happiness again.
Give the farmers a chance to plant our food.
Let the old ladies plant roses so that lovers can love again.

So please Mr. Rain, don't come yet.
Tell the darkness to go away. Let the clouds push back.
Tell the lightning and thunder, it's not time yet.
Let the sun be!

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This Poems Story

I wrote short stories in my youth, but only after noticing the subway poems in NYC did I envision writing my own poetry. These poems were simple, but captivating; I thought, "That's how I would want my poetry to feel." NYC was struggling through the never ending winter of 2015 then. I watched everyone moving through the frozen streets, with hunched backs and exhausted faces. "It's so frigid and uncomfortable, there's no time to take in the moment." And when spring was finally supposed to come, disappointment: nonstop showers followed behind the never-ending winter. "I've had enough!" And, so: "Mr. Rain."