I have a knot in my stomach in my deepest core behind the belly button and before the pelvic floor.
There, right there, is the headquarters of sad where I house all the moments that turned sour or bad.
This spot is a shelter for orphaned emotions that are left unwanted for causing too much commotion.
I leave them on the doorstep, I press the bell and I run, knowing they’ll be received by the sombre knot-nuns.
This knot is a dead-end. It’s no museum nor park. I don’t revisit its tenants for they are denied, stifled and dark.
These feelings, these outcasts, don’t sit idly though. They fester and churn, planning a spectacular show.
Out of everyone’s sight they grow tall and lift weights, gaining impressive muscle for the spectacle that awaits.
Make no mistake. They. Will. Come. Marching. Out of the knot and up to the mouth abruptly lurching.
There. At my lips they turn from orphans to words in a hope to escape from their imprisoned world.
They see the light at the end of the tunnel, mistaking my lips for a freedom-bound funnel.
They hastily jump out with no parachute to spare, shape-shifting into words that are half-baked and bare.
As they splurt out and swan-dive across my lips, I realise these are the victims of my emotional eclipse.
Though they are quite clumsy, shabby-looking and raw, I see all their beauty as well as their flaws.
In their outlandish ways, these fugitives point out what’s important to my soul, albeit formed as a shout.
These rebels of the soul. Oh may they be free. And may I watch them grow from seedling to tree.
May this orphanage of sad become vacant and shut, as I learn to showcase my feelings straight from the gut.
No stifles. No surpression. No excuse for a depression.
It is time now to turn this knot into a bow. Soft to the touch, and no sharp edges in tow.
A place where emotions aren’t jumbled and surpressed but can slippity-slide and be free to express.