If sadness were a sport
an athlete I would be.
If running marathons
compared to running water
I might even be winning

If sadness were a sport
my parents might take pride in me
If instead of feet we counted yawns
my intense fatigue would be no bother
an olympian of depression I seem to be

why am i depressed
it is not like i'm unfortunate

why do i cause my own suffering
it is not like i have it bad

why am i like this
it is not easy to want to stick around

i was told
to write poems that rhyme
so i sit here trying to mold
myself to what they want to find

and as you may
notice i am not very good
at that, leaving me in dismay
i still try to do what i should

sorry I am not what you
want
i really try to do
it but i will never get it right

all i can do
is offer my help
though it's often rejected

i'm a friend
even if
i want to be more

I know the girl he likes and
she knows me,
I think.
She can paint and draw and sing
but i'm really only me

She's got a nice home
a nice family
a lot of nice things
but most importantly
she has him

at her beck and call,
he goes
I want to warn him
let him know
she's not the niceness she posses

she says she loves him
he believes her
she says she wants to be with him
he thinks it's true
who am i to intervene

he wants to be with her
she doesn't want to be alone
there's a difference there
he wants to love her
she wants company

one day
I'll have the courage
to say the things I want him to know
but until then, he'll wait
and she'll take

there's music in every breath he takes,
he's steps in-time with his heartbeat.
soft yet excited
his eyes, shimmering somewhat like a star

I reach out to him
but so does she
and her heart matches
the small skipped beats in his laugh

in music theory I learned most things
they come in thirds
well I'm on my second chance at life
this is his second at love

does this mean that
just once more
we both have to break
to possibly look at each other

the way they see each other
but instead of her
I could be the one looking into
the shinning night skies with him