On days like today,
I find myself going through old poems-
Ones that I wrote years, years back.
And I find recurring themes;

Pain.
Survival.
Sadness.
Loneliness.
Death.

But on days like today,
Days when I feel happy to be who I am,
I am not ashamed of my poetry.
I am not ashamed of feeling,
And I am not ashamed to write about what I feel.

Today, I write for myself.
I write for the people
Who left me too soon.
I write for the people
Who have chosen to stick with me, even through
The dark times.

I write for the pain
That eats away at my body.
I write for the bruises I am so tired,
and yet proud of.
I write for the scars that are testimonies
Of my strength,
The barriers in my larynx,
Which block the riot in my throat
from escaping.

I write to do myself justice.

I write to make myself proud.

Perhaps tomorrow,
I will go back to the same,
unending tunnel of self-loathing.
Perhaps I won’t-
But even if I do, that’s okay.

For this brief moment though,
This very second,
I feel.
And I am happy that I feel.

I feel, therefore I exist.
I feel, therefore I believe.
I feel, therefore I am.

Note: The title for this poem, “I am, I am, I am”, is a line borrowed from one of Sylvia Plath’s quotes.
Day 28-NaPoWriMo.