"atire" poems
My Mom Didn't understand why I was so upset in the ski lodge today.
If I told her the truth, she'd understand, but something made me hold my tongue.
If I look at my town, Skiing is a religion.
Everybody follows it.
The mountain is their place of worship.
I was in their temple in improper atire
My quiet footsteps with converse were overpowered by the sound of the thundering of numerous
Ski Boots
The quiet swish of my jeans was overpowered by the swishing of
Snow Pants
It wasn't just that.
The memories of what used to be also took a hold of me.
And all the pressure and all the pain seemed to come rushing back again.
All I wanted to do was crawl away and go back to the planet where I am
Welcome
Unfortunately, that's impossible.
When I go outside, my fingers freeze to hell,
You see, I forgot gloves as well.
Jan 19, 2013
Jan 19, 2013 at 8:27 PM UTC
Dress in colors that do not exist;
Terror by confidence. Confidence by image. Image by terror.
Terror by confidence. Confidence by image. Image by terror.
Terror by confidence. Confidence by image. Image by terror.
Terror by confidence. Confidence by image. Image by terror.
Terror by confidence. Confidence by image. Image by terror.
Terror by confidence. Confidence by image. Image by terror.
Terror by confidence. Confidence by image. Image by terror.
Terror by confidence. Confidence by image. Image by terror.
Terror by confidence. Confidence by image. Image by terror.
Terror by confidence. Confidence by image. Image by terror.
Terror by confidence. Confidence by image. Image by terror.
Terror by confidence. Confidence by image. Image by terror.
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 12:16 PM UTC
Your love was the snow,
Cold and hard,
Chilling me to the bone.
Your love captivated me from leaving,
Caving me in,
Capturing me again and again.
The sun would come the next morning;
Melting the snow,
But only until it would snow again.
I loved to hate winter.
Your love was the summer;
Warm and passionate,
caring and considerate,
Hot and spicy,
Bathing me in the sun.
The warm days brought with it warm nights.
My summer nights no longer by the fire
Or snuggled under the sheets,
but with your friendly atire.
Sometimes even though I hated myself for it,
I wished for winter.
Nov 16, 2011
Nov 16, 2011 at 1:30 PM UTC
§atire
You're a heated moment
You come on strong,
Go the same away
You're sprung;
Like midday in May
June, August you're so far gone,
Before long
You're forgotten past the leaves of November,
On to December
You love not kind
You love not tender
You love not true
You love not do
When where was I
But in a heated moment,
Ceded a goodbye
May 24, 2022
May 24, 2022 at 4:01 AM UTC