i was born in the cold and the rain
orange leaves of forests and woods
the first sweaters
and the gray
graveyards and death's holiday
skinny skeletons resting after partying
pumpkin pie.
november month of the wanderers,
leaves ripped off their mother's branches
because of fate and seasons and what not
through fog and and chimney smoke
the wind leads the way
i follow.
I'm what comes after the brightness of warm fall
and before the amazing white snow
who will ever remember me?
happy birthday, kid.
YOU ARE READING
notes app of a teenage girl
PoetryI depend on words and commas: a sleepy french toast and my lover's perfect flaws. a collection of poems, songs, thoughts, stories, and made-up scenarios of an Italian queer teenage girl who finds comfort in writing. I apologize for any errors, engli...
