stagnant

you deserve happiness.

this feeling is stagnant.
even though it feels
like the unwavering
deep bite of anger,
the kind that covers your arm in thick bruises
like the bark of the oldest oak
and gives you wet eyes
and bloody knuckles
it will only feel still for so long.

soon enough
karmas hands will be washed,
and where rivers form
trout will swim
and the bloody wetlands
of your chronically anxious thoughts
will turn into the lush,
beautiful lakeside
of self love,
and once more
the trees will sway
in your favour.

Author's Note

cc always welcome, my poems are almost always unrefined