Coco

Introduction: I’m writing a story that hopefully never comes true. I recently read Orwell’s 1984, and I saw some disturbing similarities to today’s United States under the Trump administration.

Cold, unforgiving wind batters against my patchwork coat as I shove my way through crowded streets. Tiny snowflakes glitter on my eyelashes and my breath freezes as soon as it hits the air.

Octopuses have three hearts. I’ve been told that I do too. Is it the way I look at you or the way I listen? Is it how I place my hand on your shoulder or how I smile?

Composed on a run

With autopilot turned on

And an old love song
 

Quick little poems

With no start, nor a clear end

Grown just in my head
 

In a cozy nook

Not unwritten, but unsaid