the lights of your eyes
brown-gold-copper, like an
oncoming sunset
i would know them anywhere.

i'm drawn to your eyes;
your eyes of kindness
of consideration
of the way they crinkle
when you smile;
you always think of others.
do you remember to think of yourself?

your eyes
they're soft.
i'm safe when i look at you.
i'm safe when your eyes meet mine.
i know your eyes;
i know you.

your eyes
are my favorite eyes
because
they are your soul.

sometimes
my life feels like
it is reduced to the sum
of the plates i'm spinning.

all those months ago,
you told me that
i don't get angry.
i don't have a temper.

you're right, you know.
i grew up
a target of anger.
anger was in my blood.
and that blood was a scarlet crosshairs
painted on my back,
a poison to my fragile skin.

my household was
the veritable entirety
of the world i knew.
it was ruled
with harsh words
not the words that make you angry
but the words that you say
and regret
and can't take back.

i was raised in
an intimate relationship
with the red-hot eyes of rage.

i know angry.
i know the rolling boil of your intestines.
i know the pressure in your chest
i know it well.

i know how to cool tempers
(a survival skill for my emotional state)
and i know how to rile them up.
i know how to play
the heartstrings of your fury.
if you asked me,
which emotion i knew best;
which state of mind i could best harness;
i would answer, simply
anger.

anger issues are
embedded deeply into my dna.
i've felt cloth pull
under my fingertips.
i've seen spots in my vision.
i've known the rise in your throat
the frustration squeezing
and refusing to let go.
i've felt anger.
i've received anger.
i've survived anger.
i've seen anger tear my family apart,
i've seen it linger and remain
even after apologies
like an unwanted curse,
determined to ruin me.
determined to ruin us.

i don't have a temper, by nature.
but every now and then,
it rises up in my chest.
but i've been oh so careful.
never would i want my anger
to hurt others.

i have the bruises on my wrist to prove it.

you once told me;
out of all the things in the universe
you could have told me;
you told me that
i'm not an angry person.

i've never felt so relieved
because the very last thing
i could ever want
was my fragile existence
painted with the curse of anger.

i refuse to let
the very thing
that ruined me all those years ago
cling to me like a parasite
and turn on those i love.

so thank you,
thank you because you
spoke it into existence.
by telling me those words
all those months ago,
you, while not breaking my curse,
confirmed it was broken.

so much of my
life has been
struggling
with what happiness
means to me.

so many of my
thoughts have been
struggling
with how i
could ever deserve it
could ever find it.

it's been living
under my skin
this whole time.
i just needed
to realize;
being happy isn't like
in the movies.

happiness isn't
a magical serendipitous revelation
that happens
and suddenly
nothing ever goes wrong again.

happiness is
those moments
where you are peaceful
where you are content
where you are in
close proximity to
something you love.

if we could make
the idea of happiness
that much simpler,
we could make
life
that much simpler.

it's one in the morning
and i have so many emotions
swelling in the space between
my lungs

the space where
i imagine my soul
resides

i don't know
why, but i feel
i know
that my soul is a tangible
expanding, moving
thing
trapped in my ribcage
my fragile bones are
a birdcage for
the paper bird that is my soul

it really does feel
like it can fly
sometimes,
like now
the darkest hour of the night
or when
i let certain songs
permeate my skin
and sink into my bones

my soul is an *****
visceral, necessary
for my very survival.
a comforting weight
in the space between my lungs
when i lose my grip
or my breath
i can feel it, always there
it grounds me.