Wanting Joy

Glory be to the changeable
wretch I am       condemned to dance
within. Spirits thumb
a ride       surging synapse and hurling

ourselves in directionless tangles.

Joy is hard. Joy must.

I seek sepulchred
secret caves inside guts where
sin resides.

I keep on finding these prophetical holes
don’t exist

at this specific moment in time.
Nothing’s so special about me important enough
to hate. Is lack of hate       joy?
Joy is knowing

you’ll never find out.

You’ll be busy existing
somewhere. I seek you. Joy is knowing you exist
somewhere is working out how to find you
is hoping
how to know you when I get there
and from knowing all this       how to love you.

How to love you? I love myself
holding place for you.

Joy is I dancing without I
crying or lying. I without my one name
that becomes their name when they use it
against us.

Joy is us. Joy amongst ourselves

yours and mine ours and us.

Joy is how we make each other
without losing

one another. Many and much joy.

I don’t want my own dreams anymore.
I want things more impossible
than myself.


Molly Beale recently undertook a creative writing masters in poetry at the University of East Anglia and is now working on Public Menace, a poetry anthology and platform you can access here: www.publicmenacepoetry.com Find them on social media @mollygbeale