Droplets of rain,
falling from the sky in uniform ease,
Spring unearths from the soil,
green coils of stems
straining for the predisposed light,
mouth gaping and hungry for
air tinged with smog and disappointments.
Rainy days are no longer the same,
since I choose to save my sanity;
lonely afternoons hysteria crawling up my throat
as I readjusted to a world without my
poison of choice: you.
Summer days were once desirable
before the ugly, thick miasma of you.
Condensation, white and bothersome
clung to cold, transparent glass.
A stain reminding me of your cowardice,
unmanliness, all the components,
the atoms that make you unfortunately you.
The leaves of Autumn, once proud and erect,
green and vibrant, dim and brown,
decaying as the world gapes in wonder.
My affections for you has dwindled
At your obvious neglect.
Not a gardener by license
Nor interest, you let my garden go awry.
Pesky petals grown too high,
Bountiful clumps of weed grown too bold,
Yet you yawn in indifference
As I question and ponder.
How dare a man in name,
Fall at such a task?
A boy at heart,
I must declare your lack of density,
You could never appreciate
The prosperity of the gift bestowed to you;
Wild with passions unkempt,
A beauty rare and golden
In a world that craves the incestous dark,
Yet you threw it away,
Because you were too “busy.”
A blanket of snow,
washing away the world in the purest of whites,
bleaching the sky, the ground,
the tongues of many who lean back
and forget they are ingesting the sins of many.
Winter’s yawn rolls across the landscape,
reminding me of the devastation of you
to my already vulnerable psyche.
A skeletal reserve damaged by family and friends,
a heart mismatched and patched up
by an amateur.
Season’s bring change that may be involuntary,
yet the damage transpires without qualifications.
A solider abandoned by her militia,
blindfolded and weaponless
before a squadron of billions.
Mecca-Amirah Jackson 