They call LA the City of Angels
but I wasn’t made to have wings.
You taught me to keep my feet on the ground
with my head down while everyone remains afloat
staring at me with dagger eyes and half smiles.
I wasn’t meant for direct sunlight
it fuels everyone’s kindred spirits
but turns my skin cherry red.
They say the rain follows me;
describing me as a walking storm cloud.
I keep my head down as you told me to do
so people don’t notice my comfort in the clouds.
Am I wrong wishing for black and white
when I too once dreamt in color like Dorothy and Toto?
I feel a tether between us every day.
I feel it pull me away from the Pacific blues and green palm trees
the warm pink and orange skies.
A tether so forceful that even 3000 miles away
I still see you so clearly,
black and white in all of its glory.
I miss you like no other.
Until I bite into the seeds of the fruit
from the concrete jungle
where there’s no place like home.
