I step outside from the warmth in my home. And the wind hits me like a car going indescribably fast, then crashes into my body. And then the cold hits me like a lightning bolt. So cold. So windy. It whisks me through the air, so fast. Although you can't see it, I imagine it has a face.

So I step back inside my house, into the crisp warmth. Away from the wind. away from the cold. Although it will be back again.

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marinazartman's picture

That's really good Cam. Keep

That's really good Cam. Keep writing and never, ever stop. No matter what anyone says.

pinkdot7's picture

Thank you.

Thank you. I will never stop. Even if I never ever want to write again. I would still write to get my feelings out. even if I was paralyzed and could never be able to write again, I would still write poems in my head. And I won't let people bring me down. I will certainly listen to their judging and negative critiquing , but I will never take it literal.

pinkdot7's picture

I've written this poem last year

I've written this poem last year, I thought I'd post it.