We the Scissorhands/Scarlet's Winter

There is a secret that we Scissorhands alone can decipher. We brave little artists can read the lines: the knitted rows that are red like heat, purple like cold, as if we carried so many thermometers in our pockets. Crisp, defined and textured; we love them. But beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and our pretty pictures are beholden to us only. The heat of summer mocks shy skin, but winter is a blessed breath; an invitation to wrap up, snug and away. Shameful pride, guilty pleasure; we wink at one another, because we know you will believe anything we say.


~*~


I worry for how
I welcome the winter;
All it’s shelter and
The layers,
The way no one expects
Exposure.

I shouldn't want
This freedom,
Brought by so much
To hide behind;
To hide such secret
Tapered lines.
To cease these
Mandatory excuses;
You know I hate to lie.

Though summer's gone,
Still be careful,
Little Scarlet;
Not too low, and
Not too high.
Lovely as this may be
To you,
Don’t forget:
It is a crime.

Don’t plan it,
Little Scarlet;
You know you’ve done
So much worse.

Just avoid the mess;
You should be proud—
You are so wise
Among liars now.

Darling, I know
It’s like coming home,
But someday you need
To be on your own.