Identity Poem

Pt. I

I am too cold he said, and all it takes is a gentle

tap

and I will shatter

scatter

into a million

little

 pieces.

How fitting for a girl with no direction.

Pt. II

I am

growing,

changing.

I am cold hands –

holding a hot mug of tea.

Steam swirling, fogging glasses.

I am the glow of the sun on closed eyelids.

I am the warmth felt through winter greenhouse windows.

I still wander, wonder, wait – but no longer will I wilt. I am thawed.