a bit more cinnamon and spice
in my veins than the boy you met
but they dont smell like lies
and they dont smell like you
i held some sort of feminity
peculiarly you liked me most of all
when i was least of all me
you needed me to be someone i wasn't
and i only needed myself in the end
hello October
don't say goodbye so quickly
this is when i remember
who i am
i think of them in October
like a secret
around now the depression is coming on
and around now i love every little thing
im not sure i'll ever
taste a ripe one again
but nine-year-old fig remembers