The H Word

Being happy freaks me out.

When I was a kid, I used to think every good thing that happened to me in a day had a trade-off bad stuff coming my way. Sometimes it was pretty accurate though, like karma trying to be fair or the universe dishing out a sick sense of justice. So in most cases, if something goes right, it frightens me. It frightens me to think of what it could possibly take away from me. Of course, as I grew older, I came to realize that it wasn’t always a one-to-one correspondence. Like this heartbreak for that thrill. These tears for that kiss. Still, it is a truth I’ve learned that joy and sadness go hand in hand. And the pain is always part of the happiness.

Being happy still freaks me out though. And I guess I can say that lately I’ve been freaking out a lot. And I do know whom to thank for it.

And I don’t usually write happy poems. But this is probably the closest thing to happy that I can get.

Here I Drew

On my bedroom wall
I drew a half-moon
Like a smile, and
Stars like laughter
Spilling from a bottle.

On my window, I sketched
Bridges like stories
With words unravelling
Like endless strings
Our thoughts can swing from.

On my door, I etched a keyhole
The size of your balled fist.
Its edges spall and splinter
Where the wood is old.
Still, nothing else fits.

In my palm, I carved
A name not like a pentacle
But like a song
Whose words I do not always need
To know but I will always,
always sing.

9-10 February 2016


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