If The Months Were Sisters: A Poem
HER NAME WAS JANUARY.
She came in with a bang and left with a sigh. Her ashen fingers trace snowflakes on your ribcage, and her dusty eyes burned holes through your self-pity.
Suddenly, February walked in. Her petite figure graced the room with a deadly smirk on her lips. As her iron grip crushed your warrior’s heart, she waltzed into the hall, never to be seen again.
That’s when March arrived. Her charcoal hair and ocean eyes stunned you into an awed silence. She leapt onto your lap with a giggle, wove daises into your skin, and then she was gone.
April followed not long after. Her warm rain soothed the burns that her sisters had left, and her sunshine eyes healed all that was stolen from you. She got up to leave and you grabbed at her dress, desperate to keep a friend by your side. Alas, she slipped through your fingers.
That’s when May made her appearance. She was like nothing you’d ever seen before. Stormy one day, burning up the next, her skin was fire and ice against yours. She made love to you with a tigers roar and curled up against your chest with a lamb’s yawn. When you woke up, she had moved on.
June’s sun-kissed skin glowed under yours. Smoke filled your lungs, flames licked against your throat, and her magnified light scorched holes in your skin. With a flash, she was gone.
July lazily sauntered her way in and she suited you because you never wanted a lover — you needed a friend. You fell in love by the month’s end but she did not, and her absence left an ache in your stomach like you’ve never felt before.
August burst through the door with a shout, crash, and a bang — a heat wave so strong that it shook you to your core. She kissed like a drought, loved like the rain, and broke your heart with a snap and a smile.
September was her sister and she came right after the other, teetering on Louis Vuittons with a fake grin plastered on her cheeks. She raked her nails down your back and screamed your name as she came — you still have the scars to remember her by.
When October crawled in, her shy silence amazed you. How could a person be so quiet? She never uttered a word, holding her head in her tiny hands, dark curly hair spilling over her back. She never said a thing, but my god she was powerful. When the month was over, she was gone.
In waltzed November, a twisted angel in a woman’s figure. Needy and self-conscious, she slipped into your arms with a stormy wind and stomped her way out the door when your arms grew numb from her anger.
Finally, December quietly walked into your room. Roses bloomed from her fingers, and a sweet wind followed wherever she went. Her chocolate eyes stirred a fire in your soul, and you decided December was your favorite.
