My granny told me that when it rains, it is because God is crying.
But I refuse to believe in any God that cries for any other reason than his own killing.
I asked my mummy why God wants us to get our clothes soaked and our dirt muddy.
But she said it was because of the clouds.
\"So, are the clouds... God?\", I asked.
\"Go count the raindrops in the window.\" She says as her hand with chipped red nail polish shoes me away.
Maybe the clouds are God, I see them everywhere.
Maybe when the clouds are white and puffy, like a cotton ball, he\'s happy.
Or what if when they\'re dark and scary looking... he\'s angry?
Maybe the raindrops that fall down are the prayers he releases back to us.
Maybe he doesn\'t want them, maybe that\'s why he cries.
\"That\'s probably why he makes our clothes wet and gets our dirt muddy.\"
I say as I bow my head and feel a warm raindrop fall against my cheek.
\"This is not fair.\" I mumble as I angrily throw my small black crayon at the clock.
I go sit by the big window that is embellished with its teardrops of its own.
Maybe God is crying because of our prayers.
I wipe my tears aggressively with the sleeve of my already soaked sweater
But I refuse to believe in any God that cries for any other reason than his own killing.