The bad days feel like
Moving through wet tar
And every breath taken
Turns into slush in my lungs.
The bad days are when
The loneliness is crushing
And the fear of being hurt
Overcomes the need for others.
But there's bad days
And there's good days.
The good days feel like
Warm syrup in my chest.
Waking up in clean sheets
And being able to look at myself in the mirror.
The good days feel like
Not worrying if my companions dislike me.
Instead allowing myself to give in to the comfort of their company.
The good days are when
Everyone huddles under too small blankets
And laughs at horror movies.
The good days are when
I can comb through myself
Without condemning me a demon or a saint.
Good days are tinted the colour of golden hour
And smell like salt and jasmine.
Good days are marked by the exhaustion in my limbs
That comes from making memories.
There aren't many good days right now
But that's alright.
It makes it all the more sweeter
When one comes around.
