tired

im tired of only writing about being sad

ive tried
writing
about things that make me happy
but these things
are dwindling quickly

falling through the cracks
of my baby cupped hands
and im starting to wonder

what will become of me
once
everything that makes me happy
has slipped from my hands?

im tired of only writing about being sad

but the few things ive written
about sunshine and daises
and the castles of my dreams

all fell apart
and rotted away

and i was stuck
with torn frayed yellowed pages
soaked and burned and lived through ages
of days where all i did
was tear myself apart

im tired of only writing about being sad

but frankly thats all ive got to write about

thats not to say im never happy
i smile
i laugh
i make jokes and
i live

but
for some reason
i cannot find anything poetic in my smiles
or the few days
i muster up
the self esteem
to just barely like me

there is no real love
no real life
but im stuck in this shallow grave
staring at the sunlight,
yet unable to leave
the cold hard embrace
of my old friend
sadness