I don't know why, but I find myself unable to write about happy things.
I don't know why this is... expressing happiness is something I just can not do.
It isn't that I'm never happy, or so it seems.
I'm actually quite a happy person...
But then when I think about it, I have the same thoughts every night before I go to sleep, and they're sad thoughts.
They're thoughts that have me questioning even themselves, and everything I believe in, and everything I am.
I always
thought I was happy...
I guess I was wrong.
YOU ARE READING
These Are All For You (and other poems that aren't)
PoetrySome of these are for you. Most of them are. But don't take offense to the ones that aren't, because they probably are someway or another.
