By Megan HopkinIt’s easy to glamourise sadness
Because diamonds are cold.
The sting of strife more romantic
Than the hurt of cheeks, taught,
So, what does one write when they’re happy?
I won’t insult you with cliches of birdsong
Making the day much less long;
Nor how the Sun shines bright
And dances on all she sees;
Or how blue seems to sink from colour.
That all seems incredibly contrite.
What I will say, though,
Is how much easier breathing is.
And how the lines beside my eyes and mouth
Feel less like imperfections,
And more so tribute to the days before this.
Writing is solitary
But on the contrary,
Today I feel less alone.