Falling snow speaks in
An unknown foreign language;
Winter exiled us!

a box
packed lovingly
from a mother
to a son
far away
in another land
he doesn't know

the contents wholesome,
inspected still
once, twice, a thousand times

before it even ships

a box
packed lovingly
from a mother
hoping it will reach her son
far away
in another land
she doesn't know

Your mouth fumbles
When you call me baby
The word is foreign.
You are afraid.
A mouse caught in the gaze of a snake.
Will it slice your tongue if you say it too hard?
Or too soft?

It rolls up your throat
Pushes past your teeth with great strength
Awkward and sounding slightly out of breath
You mumble it between "hey' and "how are you"
Squished and small
Like it doesn't deserve recognition or even its own space.

You've wrapped it in fear
Hoping that if you say it nicely
Maybe somehow it will be less like a missile
Maybe this time it won't hurt.

It is exotic to that mouth of yours.
A rare commodity,
A precious rock we have to excavate
Our own romantic version of the sword in the stone

I will miss the quiet, selfish nights,
spent among books and TV and music.
I will miss missing home
while feeling at home
in a foreign country.
I will miss my time being my own
to split between friendships, travel, or nothing.
I will miss the feeling of my own body,
free from the dirt of past indiscretions.
Free to be myself,
foreign though I may be.

If you fall in love with yourself the way you want to be loved
you'll stop letting strangers take refuge in your body
a temporary home for a boy who doesn't care to understand you
If you could look at your reflection and find beauty in the spaces between your teeth
you'll learn lessons in the pieces of your shame
and you'll no longer feel safe in the arms of foreigners
your skin is your sanctuary
short-term visitors are not worthy of resting in it

Sometimes I feel like a sunflower lost in a sea of roses. Drowning out my sunshine with endless streams of red. Killing my words with the poison of your laugh. Bleeding out my confidence, replaced by curious venom.

Sometimes I feel like a tree lost in the comfort of the forest. Handing out leaves to cover up bruises. Letting me die over and over again to bring me back around every fourth season. Roots deep in the ground, no way to escape now.

Sometimes I feel like a monster in a halo of angels. I am the reflection of your nightmares hiding in broad daylight. I am the devil’s daughter pretending not to care. Claws sunken into my back whispering words of despair.

Sometimes I feel like a book lost to a world of imagery. Words to give lost to the ones that don’t care about it. I am a song in a foreign language begging to be understood. I fight my mind with movements captured on a screen.

Sometimes I feel like I am screaming in silence. Begging, pleading, dying. All with a smile on my face for we only care about what others don’t know about us. What the world sees.

Sometimes.