The First Season

Thirteen years of living
Pass me by on this
chill winter evening where
even the snowmen hover over
the fire
struggling to keep warm

Tiny claws scratch at my toes
and fingertips; nothing in the air
but the faint sound of the wind,
hushing me to sleep
A mother rocking her baby up
in the stars

The window takes the outline of
my hand; as my breath
hot and steamy blows against
the surface of the cold glass;
I press myself harder against it
to make out what's happening outdoors
nothing

Morning comes sooner than I could
blink my eyes
The birds sing outdoors; sunlight
spills through the window
no longer taking the shape of my hand
But the chill of winter still lingers
in the morning; even when the sun
smiles

Hi there bloomc! I'm here to review your poem. Let's get started!

First off, I have to say I'm surprised at how much I enjoyed this! The way you phrased certain parts gave me clear, vivid images in my mind, and that's never a bad thing. Great job on that!

Actually, the only weird thing I noticed about this was the places that you broke up the lines. For example when you say...

I press myself harder against
it, to make out what's happening
outdoors

... it's a little awkward. If I read this out loud, it would look like this:

"I press myself harder against... it... to make out what's happening...outdoors."

I don't know about you, but I think it sounds a bit off. Maybe try this:

I press myself harder against it,
trying to make out what's happening
outdoors...

Nothing.

See what I mean? It looks and reads better! I would use the same technique (reading out loud or spelling it like you were speaking) to wheedle out those slimy, awkward, sneaky bits!

But I have nothing else bad to say! Great work. I really enjoyed it. Keep writing!

-Knightley

Wow catherine i didnt know u could write this well, this is ella by the way