Dear July

dear July,
how are you? that's not what I really wanted to ask; I meant, what pisses you off?
does it make you furious when people sleep on your days until suddenly,
only one month of winter is left and I've got to wash my beanie? or do you
smile, stroke our sorry heads with full dreams, and say, if this is what makes
you get out of bed or stay in bed, then so be it. I haven't said it out loud, but
you scare me, July. your twin sister, June, stabbed me in the back with
all her cold rage. I still feel her fingernails on my chee telling me to keep quiet,
slow down, head up, cut your fucking hair, it's just a haircut, some stupid friends
with stupid jokes, granny squares, but it's just me. she showed me a mirror,
and it was just me. it was just me. I punched her in the face, and the glass fractured.
broken, she showed me. broken, and then I woke up in your arms, July. so soon
already, you bandaged my bloody forehead and offered me tea. I didn't tell you I didn't like tea. I hoped you could see I didn't like tea. please be nice to me, I don't say.
you tear yourself down, you don't say. you. you're too brutal, I say, I haven't even
begun yet, sweetheart; you thread your fingers through mine. we don't move.
even when June bares her teeth and calls us traitors, we don't move. we
stay, and the minutes turn into hours into as long as you need it to be, you say
and grip my hand tighter. okay.
I'm not going anywhere.