you asked why i don’t write happy poems.
because,
happy words are big and fat.
they’d never fit in this room.
they’re round like the moon
that erases the suffocating darkness.
because,
i would have to dive deep into the darkness
and fight through the troubles
i tried to drown in the sea
to pull at all the happy words stuck in my body’s hallows.
and that’s a long journey back up.
because,
happy words get stuck between my teeth.
they sometimes climb up but get trapped
like melting caramel candies.
no one spits caramel candies out,
you swallow what’s left.
because,
happy words don’t leave easily.
it’s like going to the beach
and coming back with particles of sand caked
on your palms, behind your ears and in your strands of hair.
happy words don’t flow easily.
they’re choppy and gritty, when forced.
happy words don’t come as promises
of the moon being pulled down
or having stars named after you.
happy words don’t come with grand gestures.
there won’t be skywritings of my poems
written for you at 11:11,
or a love song sung on 987.
because.
happy doesn’t like being words.
happy seems to only like
filling the silence when I’m with you.