Our colors spill, rainbow-like
from sleepy-eyed midnight stars;
peeks through the cracks.
We know that we are broken, blurred,
beaten between the lines of self-doubt.
This soil is tainted,
torn like mowed grass,
like the shards of shattered dreams.
Carry my worries on your shoulders,
piggyback, like that nice uncle I never had
until constellations fall back into view
and all the pieces fit together by morning.