Good

I feel so good about this one,
I’m afraid to say it out loud.

I have an endless vocabulary for heartache, yet
I lack the words for this
simple
feeling.

My soul removes itself from my body
As I try to lean into the happiness.

It is so unfamiliar to me, and
I am so accustomed to it’s scarcity,
Abundance feels
Like a trap.

I distract myself with memories
Of all-consuming darkness.

Misery feels like a weighted blanket,
At times.
Heavy
And cozy.

Joy feels like springtime;
Those weeks when things change so rapidly

From cool brown to vibrant green,
Begging us to forget our hardships and
Embrace
Newness.

Reluctance to come alive again
Means staying dead,

And, philosophically,
I am against the waste of a life.
So I will not spend mine
Decaying.

I will fill my lungs with this fresh springtime air, and
I will live again.