who i am and why i'm not (poetry)

november

lord, november comes again.

i never move, never make

a sound, yet it finds me,

as if it yearns for the silence.

wind plays with empty branches,

and crickets stop their songs,

and I unravel softly like a

caught sweater.

××××××××××

lord, november comes again

putting my barren mind into

sad light.

a false fire in the trees,

a falling fight from the leaves.

the birds have flown to better

places, and I was left behind to

rot with it all, to feel, feel, feel.

××××××××××

lord, novembers here

and the season takes me

gently in its claws.

scoops me up by the scruff,

like a mother does her

kitten.

she tucks me under the

covers of darkness,

and the sun becomes a fairytale.

×××××××

lord, november is your cruelest creation,

painted beautifully

in orange and brown shades.

it seeps into me like blood into carpet,

and I'm forever stained

with dying summer.

next year, I won't let it in.

July will be infinite, held up in

my hands like a child, a trophy,

a flare.

lord, I can't let november

come again.

-V