In another world, I will write a poetry that will not be about pain, grief, sadness or death.
A poem where spaces between words didn't look like graveyards of emotions. A poem whose belly is filled with butterflies and pixie dust and not with every kind of ache. A poem whose arms engulfed every sinner and painted each of their sin as a beautiful Metaphor.
Someday I will write a poem with a face remotely resembling happiness. A face for which Picasso was resurrected from his deep sleep.