when my brother and i sit resolutely
with our arms crossed and lips pouted
my mom rolls her eyes and sighs
“january children“
because when we plant our roots we are immovable. eternal,
in good and in bad.
so when i say i am a bad person,
i mean it because
no matter how hard i try
to pull the roots up
they anchor me in the cold hard ground of january
one I sat with my toes just barely breaking the water, Watching it run freely with a jealously hardly contained. I wanted to freeze it...
concept: my hands become gentle again. i am not afraid to touch, for i know my hands will hold you softly. my claws retreat. i do not...
life is terminal. what you once loved will pass into shadow. the oceans are boiling, the icecaps are melting. our children will not call...
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