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

native tongue,

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.