I am tired of the Sun. 

I am tired of the brightness that forces me to squint

and walk with my eyes facing down on the cracked concrete.

I am tired of the sharpness on my skin made only stronger

by the glass panels in every corner.

I am tired of the exhausting rush in my head

and the roaring cars like copperheads.

I am tired of the Sun. 

Shade, that gentle beneficence of the sheltered trees.

Sunday outings with shades and pink shoes made possible on its behalf.

Shade, there in the midst of unbearable sweat and sultry.

Summers without shade are like a love without rest.

Shade, this fleeting filter witness to cursory chemistry.

Sours adjacent to a road overpowered by an everlasting laugh. 

I am tired of the Sun.

Overwhelmed by the intense burning that fades into imaginary spots when my lids close, always, without fail.

Over the uncontrollable shift between hot and cold, preventing a full cycle of sleep without interruptions.