Grey Skies

 Poem written April 24th/25th

Does the artist that drew me

Look at a gray sky the same way

I look at my imperfect art?

Do they pile another canvas

In a corner somewhere

Saying

"That's not how I imagined it.

Maybe I'll fix it someday."

But they don't.

They move on.

They paint luscious blue,

Creamsicle orange,

Pastels and pinks.

I know I'm not a sunrise

Fit to hang in a gallery.

I am grey skies.

And I wonder if the artist that drew me,

Forgot me.