Her Name Was Happiness

Sunshine pours out her eyes
and loops ’round her feet.
Madness like a cur follows
at her heel – yapping and nipping
at the dirty rainbow -
stained with the laughter of an old friend -
trailing from her shoulders.
Its frayed edge unravels
leaving small puddles of memories.

Dreamless and lost.

She wanders the streets of the world,
looking into the eyes of strangers,
a bowl loudly clanging by her side -
empty but for a few smiles,
a left over piece of love.

A crow caws his hoarse song
and stars appear – like hand prints
across the faded wallpaper of the sky.
Her eyes dart about quickly -
no one is looking.
Her heavy hips sway and her blistered feet
move to the music only she can hear.
She dances softly into the twilight.

Courage.

She knew.

Her body had rotted from the inside.
The disease – the medicines – the doctors -
had done all they could.
The smell of disinfectant peels off the floor
and creeps up the faded green walls.
The heat sits heavily -
swirling with the fumes of melancholia
and the pity of strangers that trickles in
through the half opened door.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

A moan scrabbles at the back of her throat.
The tasteless food claws its way back up
out of a body throbbing with defeat.
She lies on the sterile white sheets
like a piece of crumpled paper
that has been folded the wrong way
too many times.

Her eyes – glazed with acceptance
flicker – towards the door.
Her granddaughter carries a bunch of fake
flowers and worried guilt
like a stone around her neck.
The woman smiles at the girl.
Her face – crinkling, wrinkling, folding -
“It’s going to be alright” she says.

It – Those things we don’t talk about.

It sidles behind a metaphor.
There it goes –
twitching beneath that symbol
cowering under that image.
Only an angry eye
blinks from the darkness.
I drag it out and pin it down
with the sharp edge
of my ball point pen.

I will never be the person I could be because
my mouth is stuffed with fear.
I blame my family, for who I am.
I am angry with them.
I do not believe in the religion I was born into.
I do not see myself as a woman.
I am denied certain rights because I am a girl.

It shrinks,
in the fresh air
and under the bright lights.
It slinks away –
naked and ashamed,
leaving only a trail of angry
words on an empty page.