Changing Seasons

Changing Seasons

In a city where every day is a miserable
December evening she makes me feel like July.
She does to me what summer does to trees
dresses my branches in life and colour, and
holds my proud roots firmly into the ground.

She’s the hot chocolate to my crisp autumn
morning, our fingers entwined inside my pocket
feel like handwarmers and when I drink from
her lips I feel warm and fuzzy like a million
butterflies decided to throw a party inside of me.

She reminds me of spring because when she
laughs I hear birds harmonising to my favourite
song, because her morning hair smells just like
sunshine, because her eyes make me want to skinny-
dip in the ocean, and slow dance under the moon.

I’ve never been winter’s biggest fan, but now I
queue seventeen hours out in the cold because
she wants front row seats for the first snow of
the year and likes to take long walks in the rain.
Come thunder or lightening bolts, she is my shelter.

Loving You Is

Loving you is

Loving you is sweaty palms
and sudden stutters,
it’s endless hours
and infinite laughter,
it’s intoxicating kisses
and morning regrets.
Loving you is uncertain
like British weather,
and exciting like
Christmas morning.
Loving you is unhealthy
like Ross and Racheal,
but addictive like nicotine,
its wanting what you can’t have
until you final have it.
Loving you is a car crash.

Writing Prompt: Personify a Feeling or Emotion

Side note: This week in poetry class we were given this writing prompt: Pick a feeling or emotion that you know well and imagine it was a real life person. Which gender would it take? What would it say and do, how would it behave? Write for 10 minutes. For me, it just had to be my old friend anxiety, and I imagined her as a super bitch. Queen Karen, if you will.

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is giphy.gif

If anxiety was a person

She would kick me out of bed every morning and run the hot
water tap in the empty kitchen sink while I take my shower.

She would stand behind me in the mirror, her manicured
grim reaper like fingers pointing out every flaw that I own.

She would scoff loudly when I do bother to eat breakfast
and tells me that it’s too late, my ass look fats in any jeans.

She would stop me from seeing my family and friends,
and would tell me that the bruises are all my fault.