With my torn jeans and my sparks.

Here I stand

not so certain

what the difference would be

if you were able to see the sky through my eyes.

I am not clear on whether it would make

a single bit of difference to you

that my clouds look like candy

and the sun looks like the  moon.

Fact is your affections are clouded

by the floating doubt 

that ghost like women left in their wake

Making you hold tight to the simplistic

and gravitate toward the easy

and stick close to the lowest common denominator

But then there is me.

With my magic and my smarts

with my torn jeans and my sparks

With my being way more than you can handle

Standing here challenging you to be 

more than you think you are 

and less than you want to be

in the hopes that some day you see the colors

that I see when I look at the sky.