What do you see when you look my way?
Do you see me, or do you see something else?
Do you see all the imperfections I possess?
These imperfections make me feel less.
Like the shell of a girl in a picture frame.
Do you see what I see in the mirror looking back at me?
A body, all deformed but shapely; this body has had two beautiful babies.
What do you see when you look at my face?
Do you see the unevenness of my eyebrows and the squint in my left eye?
Maybe there are enough glasses for it to hide behind.
Do you see the freckles splattered on my face?
The sun hasn't been gentle on this aging face.
What do you see when you look at me?
Do you see my darkened eyes, so deep and dark that the colors almost don't shine?
Do you see this hair? It's starting to thin with little strands of gray.
What do you see when you look at this aging woman who is almost forty years old?
Maybe…me?

Somebody tell the sky,
That it doesn’t have to be gray,
If it doesn’t want to anyways.

It’s awfully hard,
To rain on someone’s parade,
If the sun is shining through you.

Even when your curtain is closing,
That’s no reason for you,
To not give the best finale you can.

Bonjour Gray Man,
What is on the menu for breakfast today?
A black coffee and a plate of blueberry jam,
On plain white bread.
A blueberry, for the blue in you,
Coffee and bread, because you find it tasty.
Gray Man of Paris,
What's here that you fancy?
What led you to leave to shaded land,
Of pencil-paper men?
Was it a secret love of bright colors,
That you look so dreary against?
Well salut Gray Man,
Enjoy breakfast in the colored land.

It’s dry and still in the house this afternoon,
The way houses are at 4:00 in December.
I feel a little itchy and claustrophobic,
Sitting on the floor.
I hate this ******* carpet.
Berber.

I know you love me,
But sometimes I wish you would let me destroy myself completely.

Darkening winter gray settles over us in a dull film,
Berber carpeting the world.
It seeps into the house through cracks in the doorframe you kicked down when we were locked out that night.
Into me too, coating my brain and joints and dreams in liquid fog.
The streetlights will be dark awhile yet.

Cotton ***** fill up my mouth
And I’m fine, just fine.
My grandmother’s favorite color was gray before people awarded points for such things.

It’s nearly night, now, and the sky swirls with peek a boo pink and blue where the clouds are thin and blowing.
No streetlights yet.
The shadows gather at their feet.
I pull out the spaghetti;
Time to start dinner.

You, Oh Lord, are the light of the world
Come into the darkness of our ignorance and sin
Enter in and cast away the sky of perpetual gray
Let the light of your Son break through this day
Burn off the clouds of despair and gloom
Come and fill each dim and dusty room
The light hurts my eyes especially when I realize
How much I am a prisoner in a cell of my own design
And how much of it is no one's fault, but mine
And still, I see that this is only a part of me
Help me radiate the light that shines eternal
Grant a steady inner glow
So no matter where I go
People everywhere will know:
You are the Light that sets us free
You are the Light by which I see
Lord, You are the Light in me

Outside is Gray
Like my name
Lovely and broken
Misty and forgotten

Outside is Gray
Not spelled the same
Still hated in happiness
But loved in sorrow

You got this way about you
I can't figure out
All that I said remains true:
I want to see where life takes you

Your gentle hands, unspoken brush strokes—
Why mask your portrait in shades of gray?
Give yourself the same grace

Why is your worth a foreign concept?
You're the epitome of the green and gold

What can I do?
Certainly can't argue—
Just accept a—

simple truth:
you're the green and gold inside the gray