Gray Days

Some days are gray days.
Dark clouds. Heavy rain.
No umbrella can help
us stay dry. Some days,
gray days fade to blue.
Most days, raindrops fall
turning seeds into trees.
Some days, the breeze
reminds us of the cold
world we occupy. We try
to get through the gray
days. On the worst days,
we find ways to follow
the light that pierces
the darkness. We have
seen many gray days.
We know it to be tough
when smooth becomes
rough. We know that
life has its ups, downs,
and roundabouts. Life
is full of green grass,
blue skies, gray days
and we are full of life.
Look past the haze;
do not let gray days
take the sunshine away.

Tough Skin

Callaced and rough, tough
skin cuts when touched.
Tough skin worn by men.
Holding axes, shovels, and
tools makes you tough.
Sometimes, it is enough.
Other times, the man hides
behind his tough skin.
It is not manly to be soft.
Have you heard this before?
Women can’t be tough.
It is not womanly to chop
down a tree. Women must
plant seeds. Who says I can’t
be soft? I am tired of being
tough. I think men should be
sensitive, too. All men’s tears
should water the seeds, while
women tear weeds. We must
break free from norms and
set forms that used to be.
We can be tough, rough, soft,
or hard. We can live together
with our skin and talk about
the places we have been.




Scars

Blood runs blue from the outside

Until curiosity builds too strong

What courses thru us takes human shape

Once a wound can be examined

A story is told of how it opened

Bravery takes a hand and moves it to feel a scar

But hope keeps one finding out more

As a finger’s path exposes each pink bump

Inconsistently weaved in one’s skin,

A story is told of how it opened.

A finger reached smooth skin

But hated how flat it felt.