I Hate Summer

Summer, how joyous you are to others,

How warm and comforting I hear you are.

Getting everyone so ecstatic to see you around the corner

with the promise of a break.

So why have you always skipped me?

Summer, why don’t you give me the light of day?

You give me no warmth,

no comfort,

no place to rest.

Everyone else welcomes you like a long-lost friend,

and I see you like any other day of the week,

nothing special, nothing kind.

I’ll never be excited for your arrival,

not when you shine so brightly for others

yet leave me in your shadow.

Summer, I wish you were here the way you are for everyone else

handing out joy everywhere you go,

creating everlasting memories.

Instead, you pass over me like a plant you can’t be bothered to water,

like I’m meant to grow without you

while everyone else basks in your sun.

Summer, why can’t you go away?

Your laughter is so loud.

I can hear it for miles,

but only at a party I wasn’t invited to,

hearing the second-hand version of you.

Summer, I wish your laughter would go away

so no one can hear it,

no one can feel the joy you bring,

or the comfort you give.

So maybe they’d understand

what it feels like to pack your life into cardboard boxes

while they’re planning beach trips.

Summer, why do you promise freedom?

When I only feel trapped

in long days,

in a cycle of loneliness,

in changes, I don’t get a say in.

Still, you come back,

year after year,

knocking at my door,

handing me nothing but a few boxes.

So I wait until September,

until you’re gone.

So when another stranger asks,

“What’s your least favorite season?”

I’ll say, I hate summer.