We're in the months of Autumn, as the geographers call it
And there are lots of poems and pieces about it;
but not about my autumn.

I see them write about sunset colored leaves and rainy days.
About the smell of decay and the end of nature

The autumn I know is slow in the morning,
Bright and sunny during the day,
Loud and weeping at night
The autumn I know is almost human

If spring is a baby and summer is a girl
My autumn is a woman that has known hardships
and learnt to live with it
My autumn is vain and a little bit selfish

She'll burn you by day and freeze whenever she feels like
You'll learn to live with her and expect, almost depend on her nighttime tantrums

My autumn is not orange and grey
She's bright and unbothered
A bipolar wonder

27/09/2024

How do you define betrayal?
It's sunshine in August and calm rains in September
It's Rain clouds in December and a cold breeze in March

08/08/2024

In July, the year's not young but it isn't old either
It's the perfect time to schedule melancholy
When you can feel the weight of yesterday, today and tomorrow intensely.

03/07/2024

Maybe I'm a wet November
The kind that shocks with its tears
When everyone is baffled because they all assumed the storm has passed

Maybe I enjoy being a wet November
Maybe, just maybe
There's something beautifully appealing about wailing when everyone thought you were done