april showers
are supposedly
the root cause
of may flowers
but march came in
like a lamb
and went out like
a bipolar yeti

the world sleeps
and i find myself
trapped in this box
listening to
the lackadaisical tune
my entire body tensed
to spring as soon
as the lid pops open

it’s cold
the coffee isn’t
working at all
the butterflies
in my stomach
have razor sharp wings
slicing me apart
from the inside out

these april showers
do nothing to hold
this ache at
arm’s length
and the may flowers
feel like a
duplicitous promise
of beauty unfulfilled