February is the tired month,
it’s the drag your heels – month.
Can’t get out of bed, why do we need to shower so often – month.
This month smells like anti depressants and the knot in your stomach you know is supposed to go away, it will go away, I promise.
It’s the raining month, it doesn’t snow in London but I keep wishing the frost would stick around.

February is waking up at half two every day for a week,
taking days off work to think straight about crooked things.

It’s hands over my belly – why don’t I eat enough, why?

This month feels like too hot mugs of tea that cools down too quickly,
and gets forgotten.
Mugs with owls, mugs with foxes, mugs with shapes that follows me into hazy naps.
Stacked like a wall between me and the rest of this city,
half full, half empty, and brown like… 

like all the colours of my water colour pallet mixed together,
trying to find the shade of sky I want.
Brown and grey and rain on the asphalt. 

February is flowers dying in the vases and I can’t seem to throw them out,
it’s hanging on to any splash of life I can.

Lighting candles because I’ve forgotten how to burn completely.

Reaching out in the night, too sweaty when I’m close to him, too cold when I’m apart.

Just needed a week to recover, a holiday, let’s talk about sunny places.

There is a salt plate in Bolivia and I want to see the stairs like they are supposed to be seen.

February is the tired month,
Can’t remember the summer – month.
Time to make another mug of tea;

walls don’t build themselves.



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2 responses to “February

  1. February is when I get close to the soil using fingertips to seek early signs of snowdrops.

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