i do not write or read poetry every day
maybe its a product of where i live
the color of my skin
or my notebooks are just full

i never reread them either
maybe its too much to bear?

writing vs saying words is so different
its frustrating agonizing or excitingly joyful
in a peaceful kind of way
whatever mood im in

and that is the key
put it simply u know the rest
ik thats hard they don’t get it either way
but how will i find someone anyone at all
that does get it and i can actually hold onto
let them hurt me and keep going
is that a qualifier?
or are there people that will never do what they do
and have done?
do people forgive what i cannot stomach to imagine for years till im driving in an unearthly unearned illogical plane of existence
where i feel good and happy
to my greatest degree
cannot contain it squeals and joyous screams
just from how the music sounds
i mean it
i am not on earth for sure
but if it were not for the last visit here that
i was gifted, or allowed, depends when u ask
its a different me almost constantly
now i love it more times than i used to
would i still be writing whatever this is right now?

Is there such a thing
As happy poetry
Or is it too fleeting
The feeling alludes me
As is their nature
That was depressing to hear
Now I am so thankful
That the shutters open briefly
Look quick or you'll miss it
Everything thats been
To feel this here feeling
Now I am okay
No existential dread
I now know my calm
Was blasphemed and nameless
By the numbness of an arm
Symptomatic of heart failure