English isn't my best subject. My grammar is good, my vocabulary is good, my spelling is good...I just can't form decent articles. Poetry isn't bad, but i'm really anal about my work. Here is my first poem:

Open Windows in Winter

Tired and cold, the day stretches on.

A stinging wind penetrates through thick cloth,

Long strands of hair are whipped aimlessly - pulled from their follicles.

Each gust is another dagger, the cold

Punctures your chest without a trace…

It’s encroaching in your soul, this bitter cold

Rooted to the ground like trees in spring,

You want to

(disjoint numb bones and head for home)

Pack your bags and head for adventure, in the sun.

Shed the snow wrapped so intricately, clinging from head to toe

Imagine it now, coming undone at the seams.

It’s an ambition at best, you can't move.

It’s got a hold of you, this bitter cold.

You need to get home, but you can’t go

The cold plays a game of catch and release

(Each breath is catch and release)

And as snowflakes dance on a turbulent breeze,

They are floating to earth, joining their siblings.

Joining three feet of siblings.

You observe the white world, the blank world,

The blank page.

You lift your tired head

Blink twice, three times…

You write about snow.

I want to tell someone that they are conceited and obnoxious and self-righteous, and that thinking we're best friends is ridiculous...and it literally makes me miserable to see her
happier than me.