as i sit here on the floor of my bedroom i've realized just how saturated my art
is in my sadness. and that's okay; art is an outlet, art is a release. but these words, these pictures of illusion, born from this sadness can't be all there are—right? and yet i sift through my work and every letter drips with a sadness, a melancholy. we can't stop that, of course. it's an inevitable wave in the ocean, this sad thing. but what i can do now is write about moments like these too, where i feel calm and that is it; where i feel fine without having a feeling of impending doom lingering beneath the surface and that is it; where i feel peaceful and that is it; where being by myself feels powerful and not embarrassing; where i feel proud of how far i've come and that is it; where i dwell on how i feel on the now and that is it. because i am sad, and i give up, and i cry, and i rage, but moments like these also exist, where i can sit on the floor of my bedroom and feel so goddamn okay. i am sad but i am also happy and that is worth counting too.
YOU ARE READING
I, Girl
Poetryi am my own god, my own spirit, my own prayer. -- a complete series of 44 poems concerning girlhood, dread, and catholic guilt.
