our skies appear to be so gloomy
like they're always going to turn into a storm
a storm that will swipe the hopeless thoughts away
i used to look at life differently
i used to not look at life at all
but now i see clearly
the splattered like paint that are our eyes and clouds
the merged shapes and lines that are our houses and anatomies
i know now that all this will pass by like a blur
like it always does
my father tries to spend as much time with my little brothers
when i refuse to, he says
when they've grown up, i'll miss their little selves
oh, i can't guarantee i will
but i do think that he does this
because i've grown up
and he's left to miss my little self
because the people i don't recognize at reunions always tell me how big i am now
and he smiles the same smile every time at them that they seem to understand
and then he shoots me a very different one i've yet to understand