Summer’s Storm 

In the sweltering sun, my eyes are seeing polka dots, and my mind is riper than a juicy melon, its contents scooped out, and given away. A pretty girl with natural hair flirts with a handsome guy with braids. 

No words are needed, their eyes speak volumes. My bandana has the roots of our history, your crown bears the burden of our presence. Waiting for the elusive, violet streak to deliver me. And of course, it reminds me, always, of you, the diamond behind my third eye, the wind within my right ear. A wizened man carries his life on steel wheels, and I cry for the shackles on my feet. And my head continues to throb…tick tock, tick tock. Satiating the hollow hunger within won’t satisfy this thirst. And as I move forward, these wheels race backwards, uphill, and below ground. 
Cold metal, warm felt, blank stares, a flash of blue, and purple grooves along, as I miss my destination, once again. The presence of butterflies, the purple purpose behind the journey. 
And as the familiar grey blanket covers the sky and the dew falls into, and out of, my eyes, the train stops. 

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