In my youth, when I was struggling to figure out who and what I was (being of mixed ethnicity in a world dominated by folks who I did not look like) – I was drawn to the melancholy of poetry. As I grew into myself, I returned to fiction and other forms of written words – believing in my early twenties, that “poetry is for the sad”.
I read some and wrote some poetry in all my decades of being – and as I am reaching my 60th birthday this year – I find myself drawn to poetry again. Not the heart broken rhymes, but the sonnets to life, to love and to the beauty of the world. The poems that celebrate diversity, exploration, forgiveness.
For example, this one by Naoko Yamazaki:
"Wind in her mane" 