Writing

The poppies are too cheerful, squealing for even a tablespoon of attention.

Look at how they open wide like the mouth of a Siberian wild cat.

I told you I didn't want to receive flowers, chocolates, anything at all.

I wake up in a world that’s always moving, 

a second away from breaking. 
I scroll through the noise, 

and I wonder what happens when the screen goes dark. 

Winter: 

As frosty winds whisper, wrapping us in fear,

In winter's grasp, we gather near.

Underneath the snow-cloaked rooftops

We find warmth in each other.

They are the flow

from which all grow.

Every water molecule,

all very miniscule,

pass through the membrane

with no strain.

In and out,

up and down,

side to side

I hate you,

I hate the way you make me feel,

and the way you talk to me.

I hate how you look at me,

like no one else is in the room.

I hate how when I sit next to you,

We'll lie on the floor 

You're wearing the yellow hat I gave you

I'm wearing pajamas

We'll facetime and pretend 

We're not just like them 

We're not 

Are we