August: Tuseday's Blues

 

this august came raining, raging, crying for me-

telling me to get up, to grow and bloom, and let go.

so I scream back at the sky, thunder to thunder:

"give me a reason and I will let go; I will grow."

please let the sky know that I am not as gracious as her,

that I too have a million shades of colors but not as pretty,

my clouds do not please people, no one dances when I rain.

they only want me when I'm clear even if I were blue.

that I am, just like her, blue most of the day, but hers is joy

and mine is day old bruises, painting me inside and out.

at least she is full of stars, but most of my renditions are empty,

I draw stars on the balms of my hands but they never stay.