Dear December

You keep me up all night.

You've cried on every shirt I own, but I still don't know you.

I'm still the kind of person your parents hate,

But then again,

Your parents hate everything.

You're always cold,

And I hold your blue hands in mine,

And just breathe.

Never getting why everyone hates you.

The ground needs to sleep,

And it's not like you stole it.

You just hid it for a bit.

It's almost your way of rewarding us,

The ones who are happy to see you again.

You never close your curtains,

So the neighbors close theirs,

And you sit drunkenly on the windowsills, 

And keep me from escaping.

We both hate hotel parties.

You only shop when the mall's empty,

And you like to sleep with the TV on,

Because it's just too damn quiet outside

With you around.

You drink bad coffee by the gallon,

And write by the light of your car radio when the power's out.

"Hip hop, hip hop..."

Dead Prez lights the way for your s****y handwriting till the batteries die.

Then again, you'd usually rather sleep anyway.

Hibernate, contemplate.

Drive your autumn hangover the rest of the way away.

Your room's a wreck,

Just how you like it.

You've stashed all your s**t in other people's cars

So your sister won't blow it away.

You like your random stuff just like I like you.

But I still don't get why your mother hates me, anyway.