It creeps in like the grey clouds on the horizon,

on a hot summer day, monsoon season in the desert.

A feeling that starts out like a sprinkle in the midst of some dusty air.

I try to run from it but as always I’m engulfed in a haboob of melancholy.

I don’t want these to be the colors of MY canvas because those colors are not me,

at least that’s what others would say.

My brushes shall paint the canvas of my life with vivid color

because after the storm…



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