Poetry

Holy sun

Engulf me

Charm me

Along with the wings of those who burned before mine

Burnt feathers

And curiosity

Always smell of a man who wanted

More.

Combine in a large metal mixing bowl:

One wooden spoon or ladle, tucked underneath your pillows

before bed. One pair of old pajamas turned inside out

(backwards may be substituted.)

I used to curse the snow

used to fight every tradition about snow days

in denial

I would wake up early and get ready like I could

prevent it from happening

well the snow still fell

the roads still closed

I was made of fire 

before the roses blessed me

I was made impure 

before purity chose me like

I was some kind of tortured angel

I used to be bad

the worst

I wish they knew

How hard we try

From what I remember, it was born growing.

It was born hot, expanding, glowing,

and the people were made of gold 

and of fire.

And it kept growing, it kept burning hot, bright,

Author's Note: I am a therian, and I have four theriotypes; a leopard, an owl, a dolphin, and a horse. Because of this, I have the nickname, "Lowldorse".

Dear New York City,

I don’t know what it is

That makes me love it so much

Maybe it’s the buildings

That stretch towards the sky

Forever reaching upwards

I was supposed to be named Amina
After my grandmother, who I only knew
Shortly in the beginning of my life.

I think about this often.
Amina feels almost foreign on my tongue--
Ahh-minn-uhh.

Amina is loud.

America.

“The land of the free and the home of the brave,” they say,

But behind the mask, does freedom truly stay?

Snow is the closest thing Earth has to magic.

Lift your face to the sky

Feel the soft, chilly flakes 

melt on your tongue,

float on your eye lashes,

bring color to your cheeks.

The storm has arrived;

It’s breath steals mine

And makes 

the wind shriek

The storm has arrived;

It smothers my warmth

And makes 

The fires die