Of Aprils, Mays and Junes

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Photo by June Balagtas

I met two girls named April and May
and just this summer, met a boy named June.
I was enthralled by the fact
that these people shared a birthright.
Their names spoke of when they arrived.
But a part of me despairs the fact
that they were clustered in with the rest of
April, May and June arrivals,
like they’re all the same people.
April liked her ice cream melted.
I bet any other April liked hers hard and cold.
My May loved tragedies morbidly
her sanity should be questioned.
She doesn’t smile the way I imagined a May would.
Hers was devoid of sunshine.
The June I know
would rather stay behind a glass lens –
a voyeur to the world.
Maybe they share a name
with the hundreds of Mays, Aprils and Junes
that grace this earth.
But something tells me
that my April, May and June
have quirks that are known
only to me.
Chinks on their armor
that make what they bring into this world
unique and special.
And now I find myself
humbled by the fact
that despite the fact
that the world tells us
we’re just like everyone else,
taken individually,
we shine
like glittering diamonds
hugging the sky.