The nagging pokes perforate my serenity
The kind that doesn’t come easily
The type fighting against the jabs
Thinking the stabbing is a side effect
Of some past experience.
“Don’t hold onto the unhappiness,” he said.
The poking, prodding notes
Tell a different story,
One that’s convoluted in gooey memories and shaky truths.
Unhappiness is forced to exit my ears
Leave my lips bumbling something about pain
And desperate to suck the words back in.
The jolting is normal
It hasn’t changed in years.
The hope is that is will
The fear is that it will not.
I let go the fear
In remembrance of what he said.
Unhappiness, no longer my friend, must be set free.
‘Tis a speakeasy to the ego and heart
When something’s poking around inside me.