these days, i am the grey of the clouds that hang heavy in the sky.
something heavy lies on my chest and forces me down
the world is quiet; snow muffled voices no longer reach through the blankets over my head.
i wrap blue-tinged hands around warm mugs and think
'the sun will rise'
but the sun isn't kind; the burn of the cold will follow me
until i lie buried under soft snow.
my earliest memory is of cherry blossoms raining down around me
and white clouds in a blue sky when the birds learned to fly.
where i stood, grounded to the earth, the plants crawl up my veins;
i grow, i am growing, i will bloom.
a snail slowly traces a path through the clovers, and with it
steals away all the things i wished to say.
flowers blossom in my lungs; budding tree branches take my voice -
you never noticed.
watermelon and shaved ice, paper fans and the soft ringing of bells;
in the summer, i am alone in bright heat and the chirping of cicadas.
the humid air sits heavy in my lungs
but i still gasp in awe when the fireworks go off.
i laze away the day, stretched cat-like in the sun;
the heat has melted away the ice that held me away from others.
the leaves started falling before they finished changing color.
rain puddles and crisp air greet me in the morning as squirrels scuttle across the balcony.
in the comfort of large sweaters, i forget to find my place in the world;
it's alright - though i spent the year drifting and voiceless,
the world reinvents itself and so can i.
i wrap the scarf tighter around my neck;
there's always next year.