There is a knowing-ness in me
That is rising up.
Almost like a secret joke,
Filling its’ own cup.
All the stories I’ve been telling myself,
I know they aren’t true.
All the hurts I’ve created for myself;
Those painful nights are through.
There is a knowing-ness rising up in me,
As if it has something to say,
As if it has been playing a joke on me,
Through all my years of pain.
I feel the secrets falling apart;
The secret giggle inside.
The breaking open belly laugh,
As it breaks away my pride.
This knowing-ness has a big belly,
That rolls around in the sand.
This knowing-ness hugs me,
Throws me in the air;
And knows I’ll always land.
© Emma Sumner
That is rising up.
Almost like a secret joke,
Filling its’ own cup.
All the stories I’ve been telling myself,
I know they aren’t true.
All the hurts I’ve created for myself;
Those painful nights are through.
There is a knowing-ness rising up in me,
As if it has something to say,
As if it has been playing a joke on me,
Through all my years of pain.
I feel the secrets falling apart;
The secret giggle inside.
The breaking open belly laugh,
As it breaks away my pride.
This knowing-ness has a big belly,
That rolls around in the sand.
This knowing-ness hugs me,
Throws me in the air;
And knows I’ll always land.
© Emma Sumner