What are you most proud of?

That I don’t see life as a miserable, gruelling concept. 
That I don’t see life as something forced onto me. 
That I still manage to find the light, the crack in the sidewalk to sprout from. 

How, even through convoluted grief and anger at years lost to trauma and heartbreaks of every genre but romantic, I still want to be alive. 
How, even through the identity changes, early maturation and dissociation, I crave a fresh morning to begin again. 
How, even through adversity, I still desire this life; my life. 

How, even?

Because I want to feel the sun on my scars.
Because joy is more potent when sorrow is steeped in with it. 
Because I want to love, to mourn, to laugh, to sob, to emote,

And I will pursue this at any cost. 

Do You So Dare

do you so dare
to suck on contempt like a sour cherry,
the tannins taut on your teeth,
saliva building in your gums, 
pulling out every last ounce of bitterness?

do you so dare 
to strangle grief with your bare hands,
to wring dry your nerves, 
to feel flesh bulge between your digits, 
releasing the life from it? 

do you so dare 
to watch joy spark and crackle in front of your eyes, 
to let it ignite your irises,
to let the purest form of energy bounce off your sockets like mirrors, 
to let it penetrate the windows to your soul? 

do you so dare 
to let emotions travel through your bones,
to ooze through your skin,
to feel fully?