Reagan Lorenzen - January 27, 2023
Image by - Alana Halsted
The day begins with darkness,
color nowhere to be found.
Light slowly rises, seeping through the break in my curtains—
instructing me to rise from the comfort of my bed.
My eyes begin to burn as the yellow light invades my gray.
I feel as Dorothy did
in her dreary Kansas town.
I follow the light as though it were the yellow brick road,
hoping for the color to grasp onto me like Dorothy.
I continue on in my gray.
The sky mirrors my lethargy
like a shadow over the earth.
Smoky clouds invade the ground
as they fall from the charcoal sky—
stealing the color from onlookers.
I enter a building,
full of colorful people
challenging the gray,
their hues vibrant
in their colorful outfits
and colorful expressions,
while I remain in my cloud of smoke.
I continue on in my gray.
Through my mist of black and white
I watch the colors around me,
bitter with jealousy.
Why must I feel this?
I feel the
gray of coal,
gray of ashes,
gray of stone.
Longing for the hues of others to seep into my cloud,
I watch the bright, vibrant people around me.
I yearn for the red tints of hair,
the orange bleeding into skies,
the yellows of the sun,
the green of the earth,
the vibrant blue bays,
the lavender flowers.
Yet, I continue on—
in my mist of gray.