Through loud crashes
And heroic smashes
Through long nights and lonely walks
July you stayed by my side.

July, you were there
When few could claim thus.
You showered your care
When others made hardly a fuss.

July, you were there
When the bottom fell out
July so fair, so constant
When all I could do was shout

July,
You were my first days without her
My first lonely nights,
my misery, my muse,
my history, my news

July I don't know why you came to me
Or how I ended up with you at my side.
But now that time has past, and those wounds have scared and healed
I'm ready to return to you and say that Im grateful for you, and for those really hard nights.

They taught me the brevity of life.
They taught me to hold on:
To those I love a little tighter,
To those I cherish a little deeper,
To stay up talking a little longer,
To drive a little farther,
To try a little harder,
To love a little richer

July July,
I cry to think
I cry to remember
I cry to retrace those summer steps
Those first days without her.

July July,
Thank you for being there
When I didn't understand
And I couldn't comprehend.
Though I didn't see it
You were what was best.

TW: suicide / cancer / brutal imagery

july isn't a good month for me
it is a collection of all the things
i have had taken away. it is a
bitter winter chill through a
summer i do not get to enjoy.
july is lonely.
it breaks apart all the other months
like a pack of werewolves; it is
their alpha and i have six months
before everyday is a full moon
and my legs are tired of running
from it. i have six months to
enjoy the fresh scent of crisp air,
to feel the iciness of snow without
shivering through my skin. i try
to break out of this body, try to
knit myself a new one out of
preloved sweaters hoping their
stories will become my own so that
i may have a july worth talking about.
suicide happens all year round but
your suicide happened in july and
has happened every month in my
mind since. i have lost count of the
way i try to contact you to say
i'm sorry.
maybe my spiritual journey wasn't
my own; i convince myself the
universe will show me your face again
one day and i hope it is not in july.
people suffer from cancer throughout
everyday of the year but you suffered
in july. i watched the sunset through
hospital windows, smelt more chemicals
than fresh flowers, held back more
tears than my throat knew how to
swallow. has anyone ever drowned
without being submerged in water?
i have.
i imagined cracking my skull off the
glass confining you to this ward, to
this smell of microwave meals and
this buzzing of machines echoing
like an emergency and my heart is
on standby, i imagined it would give
the ward some colour because i am
so sick of seeing white.
and this july
this july,
i hold your hand as your treatment
continues. i do not feel the sun on
my face because you cannot feel it
on yours. i watch the sunset through
windows. carry the bodybag of my
soul around in "i'm fine" and "i'm okay."
i don't think my voice could drip
with any more sadness as i envision the
words cascading down glass panels
hoping if i spell it out for the world
to see, someone will stop and ask me
why i hate july, or at least,
if i'm okay.