Look up.

I see something up there.

It's the sky,

but I know something about it.

 

We have grown to be close friends,

and although you may just see blue,

I see so much more.

 

The sky can be stormy and angry,

or crying tears enough to make puddles,

or shy, using clouds to cover her, though still sunny,

or she can be happy.

 

The sky can be depressed, and gloomy at times,

or give us gifts of colors and joy after she cries,

or be dressed up and ready to go, 

dropping glittery flakes off of her dress.

 

The sky is often taunted and teased,

not cared about enough,

and so we don't take care of it.

 

We make her cough and sneeze, and wheeze

from all of the thick, black smog.

We make her hurt, and bleed

from scraping her with our tallest buildings.

 

And in return, she sheds a layer

that keeps us safe from the sun,

who is one of those people that 

you can't trust.

 

And the sun will show us its wrath

by burning, and melting, and 

killing

the sky.