i rarely use the word happy anymore
because i’ve realized what a temporary
thing it is
it’s funny i think i’ve use it in the past
to make others happy
i’m sorry that i can’t be happy
for you
because i can’t be happy
for myself
so used to this low dark feeling
that feeling good is unsettling
if a tree falls in the woods alone
with no one to hear it
does it still make a sound?

i envy those who do not feel so hard
or think too deeply
because **** this **** is exhausting
trying to find the perfect words
or trying to find the reason for everything

it can be so incredibly amazing
yet so incredibly isolating
to realize you’re one of a kind
and no one will understand your mind

thank god i can’t write good poetry
the best poetry comes from pain and hurt if you ask me
so although i can’t write like i used to
at least it means i’m doing alright

I’m a little person
Not even five
What is going on?
Where’s my Mom?
Why am I in this cage
Like some dog?
Everyone is crying
This is a mistake
I’m being punished
What is my wrong?
Who will help me?
How long must I lie here
With nothing to do?
Who will help me tie my shoes?
And where is my sister?
She’s only three
I’m scared and I’m lonely
Mister, help me
You’re not allowed to pick me up
What’s that about?
Don’t you see
We’re all in this together
In the land of the free
And the home of the brave
Brave, I try to be
After the criminals in Guatemala murdered my father
That’s my family
Somebody help my sister and me
I need my mother
My mother needs me

white pages before me
pure as snow

no mark, no scratch
no story to show

page after page
waiting to be used

patient, at peace
excited, and amused

each page a day
of the future world

anticipating the time
when their purpose will unfold

who will be a part of them?
everyone but those yet to be

who will enjoy them most?
the people who now get ready