Lungs

The sun is out.
And I am hiding. 
I feel alien, 
For being in such brilliance, 
Scarlets and oranges giggling on sidewalks, 
Slants of gooey yellow bathe white walls in the bronze of Africans,
bleeding into the velvety greens of the jungle. 
I feel alien, 
My lungs frozen ice blocks 
That ring in the air like loose change, 
My feet, 
Numb and heavy from the cold that sweeps the marrow in my bones. 
I am hardened, 
Petrified by frost that swells my lips. 
I am whining, 
Putting frowns upon your pink lips. 
Your dark skin is glinting, sending big moons off of your cheeks. 
The brilliant sunshine, 
That makes me cower into inky shadows, 
The brilliant sunshine, 
Pales in comparison to you. 
I feel insecure - riddled 
By relentless thoughts of you, in rays of creamy gold. 
My insecurity seeps out of my seams in the form of passive aggressive remarks, 
And nights, 
Shivering in the moonlight and cursing the cold. 
The sun is out, 
And I am freezing.