Kiss My Cloud

So you say you want to sit on MY cloud. The view, you say, is rainbows and bluebirds. I understand you hate your polyester, Dishwasher safe, blue light special cloud. It is weak, sagging under the weight of your expectations. It is no longer fluffy, no longer billowy, no longer white. It is empty and dingy and flat. Like your soul. You can't see the best part of my cloud because it is on the inside, Where it is built from the sweat of a hundred strong women like me. Where the walls glisten from the tears shed as others like yourself tried to steal our cloud's glory. But like this cloud, though we look soft and billowy, we are steel, cursing forth our thunder and glaring bolts of lightning to protect ourselves and our own. My cloud is high now, but it has had its lows. Where were you when others avoided and mocked us as nothing more than valley fog? When the view consisted of puddles of want and winds of despair? Did you once offer me a seat on your cloud? Did you give me a hand up? Or were you too busy looking down on me? So excuse me if I block your sun, ruin your picnic, cancel your flight. But I will never ignore you. Come closer and I will whisper a message in your ear: HEY, YOU, GET OFF OF MY CLOUD!!!!