Can i dare to say 

that a summertime thunderstorm

is the cruelest of punishments 

ill-timed,

tragically,

taking over the summertime sun.

Bikes litter the garage floor 

rusting

wanting

a fresh ride in the summer air

the children with big eyes

and hearts 

crying

wanting 

the thunderstorm to forgive them

for wanting to be happy

the children are stuck 

indoors

painfully waiting out the storm

of thoughts and pressure 

but have fun

because that’s what summer

is (not)

all

about

the summertime pressure

to feel happy

mocks me during

the storm

when the first lightning strikes.

fake a smile.

thunder roars

pretend to live a little

rain pierces me

be happy, i dare you.

(but i can’t i can’t i can’t

not without 

the summertime sun)