The Grey Scale

I think I was born with a storm in my eyes

God put one there cause I didn’t know how to show it otherwise.

People told me my eyes are blue instead of grey

We all think I’m colorblind— or challenged, anyway.

Meaning maybe I can’t tell for myself what color they are

But something says they should be grey, with just a bit of gold.

Storms are grey.

A calm sky is blue and for many people that’s what I am

It’s my fault— trust me— how I show myself

I can do it— I can be everything to everyone

And the truth— with the storm— keeps building inside

But I can take care of everything

I can control my anger, my fear, my lust, my pride

It’s mine, it’s on the inside, so I am the boss

Right?

Right.

Ha.

It’d be safer if my eyes were blue.

My eyes are grey.

Listen to me, for once,

My eyes are grey.

I’m finally ready to believe myself just in time to warn everyone:

The thunders about to break.

The silence, the stillness, is worse than the storm.

Good for us;

The storms about to break.

I’m sorry.

But I’m not—

Not entirely anyway

I’m not just a danger to everyone

I’m taking myself too seriously

Grey is more than just a storm

And storms are more than just bad

They’re frightening

But they’re life

New growth sprouts from the rain in Spring

April showers come with lightning

But don’t worry

Mayflowers bloom and birds still sing

So don’t worry too much

The sun comes back again,

On and on it goes

I hope