Once I stumbled
Across a woman’s cry for help.
“I simply want
To be the same
For even three months”
Introspection strikes again
Left to wonder
What I would say of myself three months
Ago.
When was that,
September?
Perhaps I’ve chosen to forget.
The cry I heard was right,
I am not the same
I was then, too sick
With worry, pain, regret
With longing, angst, sorrow
The arrow
Pointed to a new beginning
But my car
Refused to shift into gear.
September has never been kind to me,
And that was apparent
In the lines and lack of sleep
That seeped through my skin.
Forcing step, by step
Piece by piece,
Until the month bid me goodbye once more,
Dangling the threat of
It’s reminders in the coming year.
October came, and at last
Senses did too.
Within the midst of all my sickness
It was no longer worth it
To keep acting
Like happiness
Wasn’t waiting for me
Just down the road.
Thanks for reading yet another one of my silly poems (: