crisscross

gingham, against the metal blurs that whiz by us. 
my smile doesn't waver, although my hair tries to detach itself from my scalp.
my dry-knuckled hands drag along that scarred grass, the one hurt for centuries 

I am grateful for my friends, my true friends. 
I am grateful for switzerland, who has and will shelter my friends.
I am grateful for family, the unbreakable tether between us.

My dog loves crossing guards, it's truly the funniest scene,
whether she likes the badges or the smell of gasoline. 

Whenever she sees them she will stop and wait,
just the neon glow of their vest makes her little heart inflate.

blood red, tragedy. Yellow like the hope of us all. and orange- the in between. these are the colors it wears. 

a bird, so graceful, a wisp in the sky

sinking deeper into the smoke. 

There is a place where laughter, trends and rumours grow.
And I just can’t wander over-the gate is closed.
But we all know, if the gate opened I wouldn’t have survived, even so.

A friend of mine took off to this land.

Catherine watched the girl from afar. She gazed at her, confused as to why someone so fancy, so wealthy would come to their small town. Her breath fogged up the cold window and she peered through the smudged window at the young woman.