Seasons Change

I used to write about October, 

about watching the leaves change colours 

and falling in love 

with the way the world would 


and surely fall apart 

in the most beautiful way. 


I used to write about December, 

about feeling the long nights 

settle the sadness that always 

comes creeping in, 

the sadness that keeps me safe 

through the storm, 

the comfort 

I found in darkness, 

in the cold, 

until it consumed me 


so consumed, 

that I could not think 

to write about May 

at all, because I was so lost, 

so high on the adrenaline 

that comes from being 

the perfect storm. 


I ran away,  

destructive in my attempts 

to avoid change,  

I ripped out the roots 

of the flowers that tried to bloom 

and buried them in empty pages. 


Now, I write about August, 

about how the sun starts to look tired 

by the time afternoon comes around 

but refuses to go to sleep 

until it absolutely has to, 

and is still to rise early, 

eager for a breath of the morning,  

the light I managed to keep around 

and hold onto 

so that when October,  

and December  

return once again  

to take my soul  

as their own 


I will be strong enough  

to make it to May, 

I will not run away  

from the words that  

try to grow 


I will lay amongst the flowers, 

and I will be even better 

than before.