Collage in the Rain
A Collage in the Rain
Blue skies fade like tattoos on aged skin.
Black and gray clouds roll in like soldiers marching into war.
The wind picks up, but you don’t mind it you find it silent.
I’m in the shadow of a city that never sleeps caught in a paradox of hyperactive slumber as darkness creeps.
I’m in the grey area, and it’s comforting.
Someone really important to me once told me that seventy percent of their life is in a place that I’m not.
I keep thinking that our relationship is shot.
Ours turned to hours…of bickering.
A comforting annoyance like rain tapping against the air conditioner.
You don’t want to hear it, but it relaxes you. And, annoys the fuck out of you at the same time.
I try to be the best thirty percent I can be. But, I’m not the whole thirty percent am I?
Is it selfish to think so?
The wind slips between my fingers like a broken hour glasses’ sand.
Time heals all wounds, right?
Sometimes I like being the center of attention like a photo op. But, most of the time when something seems picture perfect it’s photo-shopped.
I like that moment when I’m inside my apartment, and I can tell by the way the room is lit that the sun isn’t out. I don’t even need to look out of the window to know that it’s raining.
When the storm has passed and everything is cleared up I can’t help but think “what is the prize at the end of a black and white rainbow?”
Reds, yellows, blues, grays, and blacks. Fading like aged tats.
It’s going to be hot tomorrow.
(2013)
I called this poem a collage in the rain because my thoughts are all over the place in this piece and it reminded me of a mental collage.
