The white snow falls from a blue sky gently landing on the land below.
It covers this world in freezing blankets of white
as the dirt beneath quietly hums with the warmth of life.
A facade; barrier; the roots underneath shall lay undercover,
and the weeks pass to reveal the true identity of slush-dirt snow
when the two worlds collide
That is I
I wear my personality like a blanket around my warm soul,
bury it a few inches below,
Watch my world go white
as relationships fall like the fake flakes.
They linger on the surface while winter deems it so
only for a hot summer to let them go.
I am never a whole truth but pieces of a lie,
strung to look like verity.
An arabian who speaks better french than what should be her
yet grew with English as her silent hum.
I watch as my thick tongue struggles around syllables,
my ears ringing to catch grasps of understanding,
revealing me for the slush I am.
This is the trend of my life
devotion to ideals, never to action
watch my ambition caged by inhibition
My connections hung by a chain of me too's (maybe),
My words always prove more realistic than the reality I live
A semblance in the mirror of ice
A solid snowflake in shape,
on its way to evaporation.
I wonder if a life as a wayfarer is all I'll ever be
catch bits to which I relate in corners and edges
they call it diversity,
but I see divisions of a whole
surfacing to sum up me.
I stand my guard in this in-between state
sing the word temporary with every breath I take
but I shall not build brick walls as I once have
but safety nets of fresh green grass
hiding the warm earth with bursts of bright color
after a world of white's take over.
For I have learned that I am not just the slush,
but the water that flows after to grow roots stronger
and beckons new flowers in a triumphant spring
welcoming back new birds to fill the blue skies missing white stings.