It comes every year but It still gets at me....

my moods change 
with every season
they always have and
i know there is a term 
for that
and a diagnosis for
that matter
‘seasonal affective disorder’

i have not been officially
diagnosed but i’m
certain I could be

the fall always brings on 
sadness although
it is my favorite of the 4

it is a warning
that cold weather and snow 
are just around the corner

when the rodents begin
stocking up on food 
taking up an annoying 
residence inside my walls

and the leaves are preparing for their
descent onto my lawn
giving me more shit to do

and the women of summer
are putting away their clothing 
in exchange for 
sweaters, sweatshirts, jackets
and long pants

i don’t want this
these things depress me
so i drink more
and diagnose myself with
alcohol affective disorder
and retreat as i always do

everyone needs something to look forward to

I see her every morning

walking up with her

boys beside her

watching carefully as 
the little one runs circles

around her

whether she is dressed in 
jeans

shorts

or sweats

it doesn’t matter

she is brilliant

her hair always perfectly

pulled back

she always has a smile

on her face

it’s a tired one

but nonetheless a smile

this has become a part

of my daily routine

waiting until she

turns the corner

and having those small

interactions

so that I can begin my day

metamorphosis

i’m starting to resemble those

people I laughed at

picked on

stole from

when they were

not looking

i’m now

the guy

sitting at a coffee shop

consuming

coffee after coffee

reading poetry books

headphones in my ears

writing in between

of course a little bit “cooler”

because my motorcycle helmet

and tattoos are prominently displayed

i guess this is me now

a me i never thought

i would be

it’s not that bad

it could be worse

people could actually

show interest and want

to speak to me

what we can learn

He read her
Favorite books
Before she went 
To sleep 
She would snuggle
Up in her blanket
Holding tight
Her favorite 
Stuffed animal
In one hand
While she grasped
His hand with 
The other

He read these 
Stories time and again
But they were always
New to her 
She knew how they
Would begin
How they would end
And what would 
Happen in between
She would recite 
Certain lines
And be just as excited
As she was the first time
She heard them 

Once he was done
He would kiss her
On the forehead
Shut the light off
And step out 
Thinking to himself
That he should try to
Continue to find happiness
In the things 
He already knew