if pain is measured by a wrist
or a scratch
or a bruise
or a gun underneath your pillow,
then you are the epitome of it

and if happiness is measured by a smile
against the pressure in your bones
and the marks on your skin
and the cigarette flames that illuminate your face,
then you are the beauty of it

I collect all my miseries,
I tuck them in my pocket.
I fumble with my memories,
Toss them in my heart and lock it.

I count all my impurities,
I label them and jar them.
I hide my insecurities,
Pretend like no one saw them.


I'll brandish all my miseries,
I'll wear them like a locket.
I'll make peace with my memories,
I'll free them from the closet.

I'll forsake my impurities,
I'll feather them and tar them.
I'll fight my insecurities,
Pull out my faith and spar them.


Hope is not free;
It comes to those in need.
And with a violent speed,
I hope it comes to me...