Between Bruises & Blooms

I have lived in darkness
long enough
to know its floor plan.

I know which corners
collect grief,

which rooms hold anger
like smoke
that never quite clears,

which windows stick shut
no matter how hard
I pull.

I know the staircase
that leads back
to every terrible thing
I have ever believed
about myself.

I could walk this place
with my eyes closed.

And maybe
that is exactly why
I refuse
to live here anymore.

I refuse to wallow
in negativity.

Not because
I have forgotten
what hurt me.

Not because
I have forgiven
every hand
that left a bruise.

Not because
the world suddenly became
soft.

Some days
are still fucking hard.

Some mornings
I wake with yesterday
sitting heavy
on my chest.

Some nights
the ghosts still knock.

But I am learning
I do not have to
invite them in.

I can acknowledge the rain
without drowning in it.

I can carry grief
without letting it
choose the direction
of my feet.

I can be angry
and still plant flowers.

I can remember
and still move forward.

I can have scars
and still reach
for sunlight.

So today,

I open the curtains.

I crack the windows.

I let fresh air
touch all the places
I once believed
were ruined.

And when something beautiful
blooms beside me,

I will not immediately wonder
how long
until it dies.

I will kneel beside it.

I will notice
the dew on its petals.

I will let myself
call it beautiful.

Because I have spent
enough of my life
memorizing darkness.

I think
I would like
to learn the floor plan
of joy.