I’ve never been able to write happy.
My words are always dark,
they echo with deeper thoughts
that allow glimpses of turmoil
and fear.
–
My pieces expose the most hidden
parts of myself and I feel relief,
like for a minute their gravity is lighter.
–
Though lately,
I’ve been writing poems
about love
and color
and tranquility.
–
It’s like I can finally see
beyond this dark blue curtain in front of me,
and there is a golden hue lifting through.
–
It doesn’t spark dread.
It isn’t eerie.
It doesn’t fill me with fear.
–
I’m not rushing.
I’m not desperate for it.
I just let it flow towards me
and let it reach out slowly.
–
I am not waiting for it to disappear,
and even though I crave its calmness,
I know it is coming,
I know it will last.
–
I’ll bask in this rare feeling
of serenity,
where I am still,
where I watch as the
curtain is pulled aside,
and I am swallowed
in gold and comfort.