shades of grey

In the shadows where I dwell, They ask me if I'm doing well. Their voices echo, soft yet loud, Concern wrapped tight in a darkened shroud. "Are you okay?" they pry and peek, As if my colors make me weak. Pale skin like moonlight's ghostly touch, Grey and black—too much, too much. But in these shades, I find my peace, In muted tones, my thoughts release. A palette not of sorrow’s reign, But of comfort, free from feigned disdain. I wonder why they need to know, What lies beneath this quiet glow. For in the dark, I find my way, In shadows where I choose to stay. So ask again, if you must pry, But know this truth before you try— I wear the night, the storm, the ash, Not out of pain, but strength that lasts.