yellow hope

I am hopeful not really because I believe; it’s a reflex.

It’s instilled in me. It’s a bad seed.

There is no logic in hope, but it is comforting. Hope is an emotion of survival.

 Like a cockroach that lives off of anything, but I pretend to be a deer. To have my antlers cut off and sold, but I focus on the fact that it will grow back. The grief looks at my hope and it cries.

Hope taunts the grief and mocks the rage.

I am hopeful as in the perpetrator, I am vengeful like the victim.

I could not be blinded by the light nor the darkness, I am the source.

Like the color yellow could not understand why its happy.