you think of me in
gray places, curled into
a ball of forlorn and downy
matter, when really I am
chlorine-filled in sunlight
shaded glasses holding
my hair back with freckles
like little winks across
my shoulders
most people expect
it is the opposite
because I cannot see myself
as a sun bather, and I tell you
how blue I am and how
the colors of the sky seem
to fade into my skin (and
not in the good way) and
I tell you that everyone thinks
that I am happy but that I am
sad, and so you follow suit
the truth is I am ten
shades of mossy green
mostly I am only looking
behind myself at storms
that happened years ago
and things are growing
behind my ears now but I
ignore them, because it is easier
to close my eyes than to
open them and risk the glare
of finally being happy
for once
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