photo courtesy of sxc.hu

Write something happy, you said.
I craft my pains.
Not to preserve sadness in words,
but to remove the stains
of the turmoil within; as my
external refrains
from displaying the aches of life
pulsing through my veins.

Write something happy, you said.
And then you chose
to leave my heart with scars.
Only, each mark shows,
it was I who had stabbed myself
with your arrows.
The joy I am to scribe is beyond
the door you close.

Write something happy, you said.
And so I am, of you.
A temporary oasis in my life
that buffered me through.
Laughing hours, walking acres,
escaping from the blue;
the drops of sunshine I needed then,
I got, thanks to you.