I think of happiness as something incessantly
terrifying. Because once it comes
it brings you the promise of departure and
only recently I have come to realize that that
only means I have been too long crouched
in the opposite of it. I have misunderstood the dark
as something convenient, because for so long,
that was the only thing I could see. I spelled sadness
C-O-M-F-O-R-T. I have been wrong all along.
My head is only crowded when I think of
what kind of joy I'd like to spill into my
makeshift poetry lately and honestly there's nothing
that makes me as happy as realizing and believing
and accepting that this, right here, is comfort.
Joy filling me so full, it spills through my seams.
And admitting that yes, yes, I deserve this.
I have always wanted this. And I will cherish it.
I'll be fucking grateful for it in every second
of my day-to-day life because this isn't something
that will scare me with the possibility of good-bye—
this tells me that, even if it comes to that,
it will leave me for the better. I will be better.
I already am
