Dear January

A poem

Dear January

Dear January
The month of my birthday
The month moves slow
As if my limbs drag through a swamp
And oh, I feel desperately cramped
My bones achingly grow
Succumbing to the grasp of progress
Fuck no, I never expected any less
Than to be left
Than to be lonely
At the turn of a quarter century

True January
The month of my vibrant existence
The month of sanity
(No I’m not depressed)
Don’t question my mental health
I’m fine, love
Leave me be
But how dare he, leave me that way?
On the eve of my birthday?
Right before valentine’s day?
He was faultless
I was dauntless
But hell’s demons could not have done any worse
He broke me.
At the turn of a quarter century.