January-
I’m trying to forget the sound of your voice. Just a few days ago your cries for attention were echoing in my ears. I don’t know how to turn down the volume.

February-
Grape vines twist through my ribcage. My blood turns to wine.

March-
The sun pokes its head out the curtain. The stars tell it not too. That is unprofessional. No one can know what goes on behind the scenes.

April-
I wear birthday cake frosting as lipstick. I resemble a clown. I balance on boxes filled with my favorite books. Another year older.

May-
I’m a time bomb. I’m ticking down. I’m sorry you had to find out this way. 10, 9, 8, 7, 6. The confessions burble out of my throat. 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. Silence.

June-
Like the flowers, I am reborn. My petals spread out and greet the warmth. My pretty colors distract me from my inevitable death.

July-
I can’t breathe under this heat. The air has stilled, the Earth has stopped moving. How am I still not over this?

August-
I hide from the sun. From the sky and the stars. I am ashamed of what I am.

September-
Everyone is looking at me. I don’t fit inside my skin. They all know. It is written across my forehead. It is tattooed in braille on the soles of my feet.

October-
The leaves fall from trees. I follow suit. We change and die together. I knew there was a reason I liked this weather.

November-
I have long stopped being a person. I am your lost inhaler. I am snow in the summer. An afterthought of a girl. I am sorry.

December-
Its the anniversary of the assault. I’ve only ever spoken about in poetry. Compared it to bees. Compared it to cats’ claws stuck in moth eaten sweaters. To irritated scars now opened despite months of bandages and stitches. I’ve left it folded in between pages of diary entries. I hope one day you find them. And you realize what you’ve done.