Writing A Happy Poem

This past week, I recall telling a friend that he could write a happy poem when sad, he simply had to lie to his emotion, make the smile come to his face as he writes the way it should be or look, but does it work that way, I mean. . .Happiness?

Mine wasn’t far, and my swing knew just how to hit me. . . and it did it well. It makes me numb and if I were a computer my self destruct button would have come on; it doesn’t affect, it reflects on all I do and could impulsively make someone else think they did (put on the switch) something to deserve such manner of derision. I become dissident –even to food.

I had tried to reach out to some, but reach is limited when your airtime is limited too so it was somewhat futile. Until someone literally stretched a hand.

What it felt like? Burdensome. My heart was weighty and immeasurable trickles of anger knew the tiny holes through which they made their entry, they became a deluge and I a bottle with a message in it. It was as though the positivity vanished. I just wanted to be (left) alone. Well, it did work—
I was alone and Mum became anxious with her integrated sighs and hisses.

I could be and could have been a mess but for mercy. Estranged Me began to surf the net for nothing and wasn’t willing to do much work. Then I came across an online message from ECWA Ebute-Metta and what struck me more was: GOD IS JEALOUS FOR ME, NOT OF ME. It felt as though someone pressed the manual override button. I muttered a few prayers alongside the preacher and just wanted to sleep, so I penned this down:

My heart burns not from acid, but acidic media.
Mood swings, time too. . .
I just hope this doesn’t take time.😖

It really hasn’t been much of a difference, but the morning began with me trying to re-assure mum I was okay after her not-so-tactful responses. Sometimes I feel like this Me gets this woman enough troubles😶.

And it’s been a STILL moment for me. Travis Greene, Be Still playing all day.

Can you lie to the mood?
Well, I’ll write a happy poem here now and make it as practical as can be:

The belch
of an epitaph
for the food I devoured
A jerky
head movement
to spit out glottal bitterness
And a smile
at the one in the mirror
Don’t tell me it will be alright, it is.

To a mood, you need help –beyond lying to it (professing the positive).
Someone did help me, an invisible hand with a still small voice which said: Cast all your burdens upon me for I care for you.

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