outside frost coats everything like a second skin,
the birds hide from winter's wrath,
the cars outside skid and slide on the road turned ice rink,
no one ventures into the bitingly cold outdoors.
no one but me.
adorning an ugly sweater that turns my skin raw red,
i keep a smile on my face to stop my teeth chattering,
my hands stay firmly in my pockets to avoid the urges to scratch,
what winter day is complete without an itchy sweater?
the wind screams like a banshee,
playing with my hair as if it's a rag doll,
i dread the imminent frizz,
but I'm more concerned about my ears falling off from frostbite.
christmas carols are sung by the robin,
brave enough to brace the cold with me,
but despite the uncomfortableness of this sweater,
it's a sign that winter is truly here.
***
This poem is inspired by the itchy sweater I am currently wearing which makes me feel like red ants are crawling on my skin.
e.
YOU ARE READING
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Poetrypoetry to reflect my turbulent, troubling, and tiresome time on this planet.
