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Happiness Can Hurt

we aren't always what we eat

By Sam Eliza GreenPublished 4 months ago 1 min read
4
photo by Joan Costa on Pexels

What no one told me

when I started healing

is that happiness

can hurt

and a bitter heart is

terribly familiar.

When a friend

says they're proud,

tears sting and well

because it's never been

our turn for this,

has it?

And I don't want

to seem dramatic

or thankless,

but a love like this

is so foreign

that I'm dumbfounded

in its presence.

*

What no one told me

when I started healing

is that happiness

grows from corpses

of difficult lessons

and disrespected

boundaries,

that we aren't always

what we eat,

that, like vultures,

we can consume fading

stories and turn

them into tomorrow.

If you can learn

to endure this cycle

of rebirth,

you might actually

believe this story

is yours.

*

What no one told me

when I started healing

is that happiness

is fought for

every hour

we don't settle

for discomfort,

an open heart

comes from knowing

what makes you stronger,

and when it's your turn,

wholesome love may come

unexpectedly.

New beginnings

can be dreadful

but, almost always,

easier than completely

letting go of who we

want to be.

nature poetrysurreal poetryinspirational
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About the Creator

Sam Eliza Green

Wayward soul, who finds belonging in the eerie and bittersweet. Poetry, short stories, and epics. Stay a while if you're struggling to feel understood. There's a place for you here.

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Comments (2)

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  • ROCK 4 months ago

    Thank you for sharing a space in your heart with me.

  • Zara Blume4 months ago

    So beautiful, and so true! No one told me either. But even if they had, I wouldn’t have understood. You have to go through it to understand it. ‘What no one told me when I started healing is that happiness grows from corpses of difficult lessons and disrespected boundaries, that we aren't always what we eat, that, like vultures, we can consume fading stories and turn them into tomorrow.’ That is the most perfect metaphor. Yes, happiness requires one to be a scavenger. You can’t keep the same narrative that caused your misery, but you can take what you need from the carcass of it. This poem reminds me of a time when I broke down crying because I could feel my life changing for the better. I couldn’t explain to anyone what I was feeling or why, but I was mourning my old life. I knew things wouldn’t ever be the same. Of course I never could’ve expressed that so eloquently as you have. Thank you. 🤍

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