I Am Grey

I am smudged with basics. I am swirled in the palate of humanity. I am some twenty-three hour old dollop of black and white, smothered in sauce that is fresh from the bottle that was manhandled from a Ma and Pa hobby shop that had risen from the sun-kissed remains of great grandfathers nightmare. I am a collision of colors.

I am a train of thought forgotten for days. I am a hazy morning that has some saying, “shit”, and some smiling up with praise. I am a well-loved candelabrum. I am a comfy school sweater. I am a magnetized direction. I am a funky food found at the bottom of the trashcan.

I am dizzy with the swirls of overbearing black, and I am silenced with the soaking of heavy, sniffling white.

I am an infant elephant’s flesh, a happy cloud’s sullen hue, the silky memories of a grandmother’s locks, the soft purr in a kitten’s chest, the funny bone of a fresh-slated stone; I am the full belly of a shark, and the holiday tinsel that shimmers with giggles, and television history. I am the smell of government funding in the streets, of graveyard whispers through the trees, of dust bunnies taking the fan for a spin; I am the smell of a pillowcase in need of a wash.

I feel fuzzy. I feel mixed. I feel tasteless. I feel bliss. I feel cool. I feel moody. I feel diverse. I feel underestimated. I feel out of this world. I feel normalized. I feel deep. I feel victimized. I feel wise. I feel timeless.

I am smitten with the rainbow when it travels my way, though my favorite part of the rainbow is when the colors fade to grey.