The skies are dark and gray,
the way some people love them to be.
Like me.
I love them to be that way.
I need your lighthouse to guide me,
to show me to the shore.
But you’ve been gone so long
your lights flickered out.

I used to play this game,
when I was little,
where I would crawl on my bare hands and knees
on the rough sidewalk
from one end of the block
to the next.
I’d race my friends
to see who could withstand the pain longest.
Will you race with me?
My hands and knees are scraped already
but I’m willing,
for you,
to keep crawling.

My body is a lantern
it’s bulging with light.
I toss in the wind.
Do you hear me?
I rattle away like windchimes
who have no singing talent.
My light
is not like yours.
I can light someones face,
illuminate all that makes them
themselves but
I cannot carry
boat loads of people to shore.
Why are you a lighthouse?
I miss your flame
and I’m scared.

I should have known better
than to believe I could function without
someone to light me.
I don’t want you to be angry but
my light is going out.
I’m sorry.
The skies
are dark and gray,
which is my favorite,
so I guess I’m happy
to match them.