Funny how optimism is just some juvenile hope for

something rather than being actually considered as valid,

people tend to disregard it.

Can't possibly even face the idea of dancing in the rain,

funny isn't it?

And it always bloody rains.

There's not gonna be something to take you soaring through the clouds to sunlight

Gonna have to make the most of it aren’t you?

No, most people don't though

and you watch them with their heads down.

Sidestepping puddles.

The words on my page actually fail to make sense. I'm a poet. And if you hadn't picked it up already, I like the rain. Unpopular opinion. And I wanted to tell people with words that only make sense on the page. Preferably in a roundabout way. It's an art. But there is a way to do it that I seem to have forgotten. Everything sounds like a rant.

And here I am again, ranting about my ranting. It’s like this more and more recently, like my pen just works overdrive and the part of my brain that cares about my job has checked out ages ago.

I'm about to scribble it out, hating it so much I even hate that it seems to make my pen scratch a certain way on the paper when I hear it.

"I like the rain." A pause, and then, "The poem's good."

It takes me a second to realise that the voice is not imagined. Someone looking over my shoulder, and I don't know how to feel about it.