Today I am gray—
a storm without thunder—
which is better than a drowned, faded blue,
but I would not press to call it a full color.
I yearn to be something more.
A hopeful, blinding azure,
a sunlight gold—
so warm you can feel it on your skin.
Maybe a violet—
wealthy with promise and beauty.
Or an emerald green—
honest and brimming with life.
Even crimson would be better than this.
To feel bitter hate would be better.
Better than feeling empty.
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