Bad poetry I wrote as a teenager, Volume XXXVIII

I'm not sure what personal crisis inspired this exactly. Based on the bizarre flourishes in my handwriting, I'd have to say this was some of my earlier work. Like eighth grade. You know, before I really DEVELOPED as an ARTIST. Maybe it was the result of some super serious shit that went down at a school dance. Or a bad hair day. Who knows, for sure? As an aside, I read an old "story" I'd written in The Yellow Notebook today. About a businessman? Who is also a champion rollerskater? And has a meltdown and quits his job to run a hot dog cart in a clown suit? And stabs a guy to death with a sewing needle? What? Anyway, without further ado…

As I listen to the rainfall
These tears of darkened clouds
I try to close my eyes & sleep
But these tears are really loud
So instead I stop & wonder
If that cloud was full of pain
When she stops will she be white again?
Or were her tears all cried in vain?*
If her pain is why she cries
Did it often weigh her down?
So she couldn't soar across the sky
But hover near the ground
Though** I know not of these answers
They linger in my mind
And I long to be just like the clouds
If I could leave my tears behind

* "In vain" was a very big thing with me, and would continue to be throughout my poetic career
** Original spelling "Tho"

I was 13. Don't judge me. If you missed the last juicy installment, here it is.