kajsa ㅇㅅㅇ

happy

April 28, 2023

all at once,

i’m happy.

the anxiety crawls into its own skin, devouring itself for now

the sadness shrinks away and closes its eyes, snoring gently in a heap of comforters,

sleeping, at last.

the happy crawls out from its den

yawning at its soft white paws, flicking its tail

stretching out beneath the big blue sky,

the bright blue sky,

the blue i fell in love with as a young girl,

the blue that makes me smile.

it basks in the bright white sun,

rolling in fields of lavender lilacs

taking on the scent of earth’s purple perfume

dancing, because the raindrops that could come anytime

are not here.

and so, 

i am happy.

Where the Wind Whispers
 

The wind whispers secrets when one will just hear,

Wherever you wander, the wind will be near.

Where the water is clear and icy with frost,

And the hills are bejeweled with white snowflakes embossed,

Where waterfalls meet and plunge under the pass,

Where morning dew sprinkles each soft blade of grass,

Where armies will battle and win every fight,

Where soldiers abide, watching all through the night,

Where the heather fields run and the willow tree sings,

The wind comes to whisper us wonderous things.

(idk when that was from. baby Kajsa material lol)

This one's sad ish but it's well written ish and i like it so there

Sing the song of hidden seasons,

Icy claws keep shadowed reasons,

Cracked memories in shattered glass,

Hallucinations shroud the past.

Hear the song of lurking demons,

Lamented whisper over regions,

Wraith cackles out the unheard names,

Last foothold shifts and turns to flames.

Feel the song of troubled souls,

Crimson seeping from the coals,

Cryptic serpents rise from smoke,

Terror wears the nightmare’s cloak.

Song of hidden seasons sung,

Composure falls and breaks, unstrung.

Wind howls out a mournful moan,

Left lonely with a cursed unknown.

I am from wind and its tales of fjords and icy seas, 

from the extreme hot and cold that occasionally meet for tea and become something quite pleasant.

I am from the chimes that sing along with the birds,

adding their melody to the beautiful cacophony of spring.

I am from books that I have read,

from hearing Mom’s voice at 8:00 sharp that it is time for read-aloud.

I am from bursting with excitement when Dad steps in through the door

and dropping whatever I am doing to envelop him in the tightest hug possible.

I am from pencils and crayons

melted wax and puzzle presses

from glow in the dark liquids in little plastic tubes

from finger paint and popsicles and bubble baths.

I am from Lines,

from black dresses with glittering, shimmering skyline sequins

from five victories back to back 

and nothing to tarnish our fame.

I am from the pictures on my wall,

the ones I drew and put up to bring out the yellow curtains on the window that’s always open in the spring.

I am from the keyboard set up near the far wall, the one with light and bouncy keys

that adds an artificial click to a once natural, classical melody.

I am from the pink hair iron in my bathroom, 

from the mosaic hairbrush that keeps my locks soft.

I am from the bright blue sky that spills in to meet me each morning,

from “I am worthy” stuck dazzlingly upon the mirror.

I am from strong bark

From more branches than most and even more leaves

From roots that stretch toward the core of the earth

And could never be chopped down.