Unshine

A woman’s hair used to be bright.  The colors were vibrant and glistened in the sun.  At certain angles the light would glint off the sheen and shoot a glare across the eyes of those nearby.  Skies were clear and sunshine birthed each strands lightened hue.  Life was full of cheer, skips and smiles.

But there was a girl who did not thrive under the sun as the others did.  The warm rays didn’t spread her smile.  The shining light only slowed her pace.  She wasn’t unhappy but the clear skies did nothing to improve her gaiety.

So she settled in the darkness.

While the others moved themselves to indoor tasks and rest, the un-sunshine girl found comfort in solitude.  The empty streets improved her grace.  The cool evening air roused her jubilation.  In the moonlight she found her smile.

She was drawn towards the sun’s antithesis.  Dark and cold became her comfort.  If the sun was bright she would look for shade.  She would carry an umbrella on her shoulder wherever she went and her eyes would be hidden by sunglasses.

The night held her heart and made her feel love.  With all her time spent in darkness’ arms she began to reflect it’s nature.  Her sun-kissed skin grew pale.  Her eyes lightened in color from brown to green.  Shadows weaved themselves in her hair and became a part of each strand.  No longer was it bright in color, but black as night.

She lived among the fair-headed women and her beauty spread.  The colors painted themselves in other’s manes.  Some were the sun.  Some were the trees.  Some were the flowers.  She was the shadows and she thrived.

Peony

The gods were petty when they made you.  They were filled with rage from jealousy, so you were hid just below the topsoil.  Now you bloom every spring and through the late summer, then die back as the cold resets dominion from petal to leaf.  Reds, oranges and yellows take from pink and white.  Fragrance is lost as crisp evening air blankets the sunsets.

Your heart beats a short bloom, barely able to take one breath among fifty-two.  Colors dying back to mush.
You come back though.  You need the cold to remind you how much you love the warmth, as if you could forget so easily.  The sun is your life and without it you would fall, or refuse to grow at all.
And although you display yourself in many colors of vibrant beauty, you do not long for attention.  Stealing away to anonymity.  You don’t mind being observed, as long as it’s without witness.

You are a bomb that was too much for jealous minds.  Healing gods with your beauty.  Now they’re all gone and you remain, year after year.  Beauty always wins in the end.  Beauty never dies.

That fake color blue

The sky isn’t blue and neither are you.

You’re a scattered reflection.

A person you thought I wanted you to be,

stretched to a person you aren’t,

to get closer to me.

The sun isn’t yellow, it’s as white as your lies.

Small lies that don’t mean much to anyone,

aside from the person you’re lying to.