cowboys without
mustaches are just dusty
illiterates. yeehaw!

they can say what they want about us
but while the snow may be cold
our hearts are warm
our socks are thick
and our jackets make us look obese
the thing that makes it great
is the fact that we don't care
because the snow
gives us a chance to play God
we simply lie on our backs
and make angels

little birds work their way up her neck
as if her ear would give them
the rest they deserve
their colors are fresh
ink is set
clearly their flight
has not been long enough
to make them fade
vibrant
but hidden by hair
not quite long enough
to obscure them
just long enough
to give them shade
from time to time

I long to give those birds
the rest they deserve
to lend them my lips
as a momentary resting place
on countless occasions
in the years to come
I long to give them hope
to show them that their flight
their constant motion
is unnecessary
and that it is ok
for them to settle down

there's something to being happy
smiling with all twenty-eight pearly whites
laughing so hard
that our abs begin to burn
hiccuping
and choking
and crying
as we tend to do
looking away every time our eyes meet
and giggling to ourselves
because we know it's not that funny

it's that feeling of euphoria
an abnormal feeling of
buoyant vigor and health
a feeling we cannot control
but we welcome that helplessness
because we know it can't last forever
and no matter who we pray to
or what we say
or what we accomplish
we only have this moment
to feel the way we do

metaphors are
rubber bands
we may extend them
as much as we like
we may shoot them
at our classmates
we may impress
our professors
with the shapes
we can contort
them into
but the more
we extend them
the more we
wear them out
and its very possible
that with all of our
stretching and extending
we could render
our metaphors
useless
*snap