Snowflakes clung to my eyelashes, determined to make it ever so slightly harder to see. I was glued to my mothers hand as if at any second I could lose her in the snowy night. She had laughed at my snow-dusted hair and warned me to put up my hood if I didn't want to catch a cold. I don't remember all that much from that night now, except for the feeling of evident comfort while standing in the snow...

December rushes past like a child late to school. She lives in snow flurries and the rosy cheeks of kids in puffy coats. Her gift of snow is the weighted blanket to my mind easing any anxiety or worry, comforting my senses. I live in her frosted windows, the brisk air, and bundled up bus rides to school. 
    When I was young, December brushed off on my dads work coat. When he wrapped his arms around me after...

December rushes past like a child late to school. She lives in the snow flurries she provides and the rosy cheeks of kids in puffy coats. She makes me believe that I live somewhere else. That I am cozy, organized, and content. Her gift of snow is the weighted blanket to my mind easing any anxiety or worry, comforting my senses. I live in her frosted windows, the brisk air, and bundled up bus rides to school. 
    When...

Between the stars we sit
lonely lovers of life,
bound to this earth
'till the reaper swings his scythe.

Then rise the teachers of humanity,
with a lowercase "h"
leading a cause worth listening to,
a chant,
to make believe we are not so alone.

Communities come to rally for whatever they deem worthy,
like busy honey bees searching for flowers.
And like honey bees,
sworn to protect the homeland
to sting whosoever invades,
a blood oath to nationalism.

Leaders...

"Could you please pick me up?" She says into her phone, her voice catching. Under the busted neon coffee shop sign she stands, a broken heart in her chest and frostbite on her nose. The night seeped through her clothing, making her skin prickle under the weight of the moon. The rain had stopped, leaving only little puddles reflecting the lights of the city.
   It used to be one of he favorite things; the way the city glinted off...

"Could you please pick me up?" She says, her voice catching. Under the busted neon coffee shop sign she stands, a broken heart in her chest and frostbite on her nose. The night seeped through her clothing, making her skin prickle under the weight of the moon. The rain had stopped, leaving only little puddles reflecting the lights of the city.
   It used to be one of he favorite things; the way the city glinted off of the wet...