And maybe one day,
when the storms
are gone
and the sun
shines brighter
and the waves of
self-loathing
ebb and subside,
I’ll run short of sadness
to write poems about.
And maybe then,
I can finally
step out of this ark
Maybe then,
I’ll be okay —
maybe then,
I will be fine.

It's been 40 days and 40 nights.
The rainbow is still
nowhere
to be found.