Fucking Weather

Okay, so my poem isn't about pigs, it's about, obv., the FUCKING WEATHER. I wrote it on the bus yesterday, an ode to walking home in the rain.

Walking to the Bus in the Rain, by self

Crystal droplets
In my hair.
Seeping through my sweater
Is chilled air.
My house will be surrounded
By a freezing moat.
Why oh why
Didn't I remember my coat?
Twisted clouds
Fill the sky.
This is the kind of weather
Where squirrels die.

Emo, isn't it? And I bet you're thinking that it's out of context, for California at least. But get real, people. Only in southern Cali do people enjoy sunny weather year-round and 80 degree Christmases. It can get pretty freaking freezing up here in a town I will neglect to name. Sigh. But. *sings Vanessa Hudgen's Say Ok* At least I have a cup of steaming cafe au lait to keep me warm :]

I may have neglected to mention that I am, as well as a fashion-lover, writer, and artist, I am a cafeine addict and have a love of France. You may have guessed this from the name of my blog. If you didn't, you're a moron and should die like those squirrels.

I fear that I am about to do the same, but from boredom instead of cold. This town is just as ho-hum as Forks, without incredibly sexy vampires to fall in love with. And I am sorry to report that on Google if you type in the letter "e", the first suggested search that comes up is for Edward Cullen, and for "r" it is none other than Robert "I Am Physically Incapable of Shaving and Getting a Haircut" Pattinson.

Sigh.

<3