Writing

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

My feelings as words

it's supposed to be safe

I just want to rant.

Deleted.

Cancelled.

No evidence.

Go away.

She is my sister, 

that is not my blood.

Long black hair, 

and kind eyes. 

Composition class,  

met by chance,

ended up laughing till our sides hurt.

Now we are in college,