Sadness once was poetry’s ink,
verbs and nouns formed on other’s faces,
adjectives lining their judgments and remarks,
ending with a continuation of my sorrow.
Finally I learnt what feeling was allowed,
to be sad is to be happy,
an illusion not worth keeping.
It’s much more about connecting with your spirit,
and not being forced to worship an uncertainty,
yet understanding that sometimes this uncertainty is faith.
Faith that for some fuels their happiness, and sometimes war.
Knowing that feeling the warmth of youth
and hardship of adolescense,
spikes of terrificness then terrifying-ness,
and learning sadness is not lack of happiness.
Awareness has taught me to write again,
but it provides a struggle for my wages.
Still, I do not wish to return.