These poems of mine always seem strangled
Tangled in a web of tight vocal chords
My throat can't get the words out it needs to so my hands do their bidding instead
I guess that's why none of my poems seem happy
Those words burst from my chest like firecrackers
My laugh unsurpessesble and bellowing
Much too fast for hands to grab
Happy emotions are light and feeble. Carefree and quick
Trying to grab them is fistfuls of sand in water
But the dark
The taboo
They are much more heavy
Easier to grab
The weight of those feelings only leaving by typeface
Wet cement drying then being slowly chipped away
And I am free again