My First Happy Poem

I have never written a happy poem

I hate the the way they’re filled with cliche

I’m the kind of poet that uses my sad soul to write beautiful scribbles of darkness

But I don’t want to forget that happiness brings a gentleness that amazes

I don’t want to forget the way the rays of sun prick my skin softly on a good day

I want to be a person who looks at happiness and praises

I don’t know how to go about this

As far as life goes this is also not my area of expertise

I’m the kind of poet that avoids bliss and happy endings

But I don’t want to forget how I feel free on euphoric days

I don’t want to forget the way the wind chills my skin and sets me ablaze

I have a mind filled with doubt

I don’t know if I’m doing this right

I’m the kind of poet that second guesses every word and never finishes

But I don’t want to forget that I too know what happiness is

I don’t want to forget the way that I feel accomplished when I endorse what’s truly valuable

I don’t know if it was a happy poem per say

I did what I could, but perhaps that’s just what I’m choosing to believe

I’m the kind of poet that doesn’t need recognition

But I don’t want to forget that I am more than just some sad ball of sorrow

I don’t want to forget the way a compliment from a stranger makes me cheese from ear to ear

Almost Explainable

I keep trying to channel some emotion to scribble onto this page

To create something beautiful

To let the ugly words and tears flood and bloom into something meaningful

But the thing about pain is you can paint a pretty picture but its still just that


I keep trying to find it in me to let some kind of lesson to wash over me

To be enlightened by the trickles of water that caress my body

To cultivate my garden and revive my sense of being

But the thing about lessons are you can saturate yourself in false beliefs yet the thing that still lingers..

Is pain

Like a rain forest filled with intertwining roots of orchids and trees

Pain is intricate

Like the susceptible buds sprouting on a pencil thin stem

Pain is delicate

Like the fragrance of this beautiful flower that only blooms when it pleases

Pain is unforgivingly intoxicating

I keep trying to write about the way I used to make myself bleed when I didn’t feel whole

To compose something dark something that really shows my agony

To let every unsaid word drip down my fingers and become something real, raw

But the truth is I can’t even genuinely grasp the despair that lives inside of me

It creates a new kind of pain

I keep finding ways to seemingly diminish the reality of it all

To hinder the fact it is not alurring

To twist the ugliness into something admirable

And the truth is even in nature it can be so dazzling it will blind you

It’s the reason pain is deadly

It can show a magnificent blue hue with freckled orbs of black

Pain will bewitch you

Yet send a poisonous dart through the tips of your fingers

Pain will deceive you

It can come in a package so small it needn’t cower

Pain is unforseen

A dastardly foe this frog can kill just from a single touch

Pain is impetuous

I can keep creating metaphors

Keep using things that thrive in the rain forest as a way to characterize it

But even if it wrap it in a lovely little box it still has the intent to abuse

Pain is almost explainable yet it is so twisted and warped it deteriorates into something uniquely unknown

A poem for you

I watched the one person that was never supposed to hurt me

Choose everything but me

Over and over and over again

And it broke me.

A stolen childhood

And twisted memories

I watched as the devil wrapped his arms around you

The alcohol consumed your mind

And when it did

Somewhere in your twisted brain

You thought it was okay

To wrap your hands around her

And whisper broken words

Into her ear

And we cried helpless

Every single time

Broken glass

And hidden lies

The neighbors could never know

I watched as the devil kissed your cheek

The drugs ran through your lungs

Sending a chill through your mind

Was the high worth it?

The sweet relief

Was it?

Losing everything

Over and over again

Re-living the same nightmare

Cause we just didn’t want to believe

That it wasnt us

It was always you

You fucked me up mentally

And the clock cant be turned back

But maybe one day youll see


Its like Im talking to myself, no Im fucking screaming

But the only thing that ever answers is the loud echo that silence can create

Like a ripple it starts small and increases

Thoughts begin to pool and bubble slowly waiting for the perfect time to rise

A silence so loud its deafening the pool is overflowing

The ripples keep getting bigger it wont slow down and my sheer voice cant keep up any longer

I let the silence engulf me and fade into a soft echo

My happy place of discontent

Im in a place that I feel so whole yet so Unfulfilled

Because I am happy

With who I am

Where Im going

How Im getting there

Why Im getting there

But something is missing

This is what Ive been waiting 17 years for?

To finally be in a place where I dont allow my my mental illness to weigh on my actions yet still feel so un happy? So lost? Like somethings missing?

A big part of me believes its my fault

I guess you could say my happy place lives in my discontent.


I have A mind that twists like the branches of a hundred year old tree

I have lost myself in the maze of my broken roots

Scattered on the rain covered floor I cant keep up with the decaying leaves

An obsession with all things broken and withered

Light as a feather the wind sweeps me away another leaf searching for a place of peace among the chaotic winds

Not always as it seems


For me its living life normally.

Its smiling and laughing and having fun with friends.

Its telling people Im fine then zoning out because Im thinking of all the reasons why Im not fine now.

Its putting my head down cause Im tired or going into bathroom stalls or walking away from whoevers around me so I can cry.

For me depression sneaks up and I almost dont even realize its there.

Until I sit in my room alone at night and try to remember the last time I showered. I cant.

Until I try to run my fingers through my hair and I cant recall how long its been since Ive at least brushed it.

Until I run my tongue across my teeth and realize its been 2 days since I brushed them.

Until I look in the mirror and touch the bags under my eyes trying to remember the last time i slept for more than 2 hours

Theres something sad about the way I live and I cant see it most of the time.

Until I really think about my actions and realize what I am doing is not normal. This is not the way a person should live. What I am doing is not healthy. But I cant stop it.

How can someone so depressed live a life that is filled with so many amazing things?

Continue reading “Not always as it seems”