After Reading My Poetry; My Life

After reading my poetry, my life,
people tell me to write happy ones,
as if joy could rewrite the bruises.

They say, write the other side of the coin,
the side that couldn’t exist because of today.

I read a few happy poems —
where they talk about love,
where they write of moments shared together,
overcoming life’s brutality, though few ever could.
They make a person feel a kind of revelation.

But somewhere, I felt it was all advice,
packed in rhymes and metaphors.

Where is the confrontation before happiness?
The battle before peace?
Those moments when the day felt too long to live,
when breathing felt heavy,
and living became a routine —
drained like a dry land where even a scoop of water disappears.

I lived all these, and a few more.
I started wearing a necklace made of my situations.
Call me a narcissist, it’s easy to label.

But I had to write to let them out,
one after another.

I’ve never seen the moments after a storm —
still quenching my thirst.
Once I get there,
I’ll write what you want.