you get one day to cry
but tomorrow
it’s time to fix your crown

he keeps asking
why
I don't write
about him

my dear,
my sweet darling,
it is because
you
do not cause heartache
and pain
like the others did

I do not know
how
to write
when I am in love

we were like sunsets balancing on the horizon of two worlds
we were the sun meeting the waters when everything was still

sometimes grey is really yellow.
he is sunshine on a summer day,
giggling at knock-knock jokes
with punchlines like the wind.

and sometimes grey is really brown.
coated in the mud of puddles
that he was told not to touch
but leapt into anyways.

and sometimes grey is really green.
when he is, he asks questions
as tall as his dandelion legs
that grow taller with each day.

and sometimes grey is really red.
like the day he came into the world
screaming and all-of-the-sudden
with his middle fingers in the air.

and sometimes i am really blue.
when i look at grey, and yellow,
and brown, and green, and red
wondering how he might paint

wondering if the world will see his colors
until grey cups my tears in his hands
throws them into the air
and makes a rainbow.