contenment, n.
driving down the road,
staring out the window,
listening to music you're ashamed to love

making promises to yourself
that you have no intentions
of fulfilling because it's all just as well,
varying your breathing in order to remind yourself
that you are indeed alive,
smiling at the fact that you are alive and seemingly well

missing the way things used to be
but being okay with the way things are,
speaking the names of the beautiful people in your life
and hoping they know how
beautiful they truly are.

Not to be confused with happiness.

I look this word up next.

happiness, n.
the sun peeking through the clouds,
holding hands and being kissed on the forehead,
dreams that make you wake up with a smile as big as Texas,
inside jokes,
shared looks,
best friends,
secret dreams,
favorite songs

fulfilling one of those promises
you made to yourself finally
and the results aren't quite
what you expected but good enough

fleeting,
never to be trusted,
never to be believed,
possibly nonexistent.

Never to be confused with joy.

One last word.

joy, n.
driving down the road,
watching raindrops race down the window,
stopping to play as it falls,
listening to music that makes you melt,
music you resolve to share with everyone you meet

never making promises to yourself
but learning that whatever will be, will be
(que sera sera, hakuna matata, shut the hell up and let God -- or whatever else you believe in-- work)
taking deep breaths and knowing that you are lucky to be alive,
that you were meant to be alive

knowing that things have never been better than they are
in that moment and may never be
and thus, savoring every laugh every smile every second,
calling the names of the beautiful people in your life
and reminding them that they
are beautiful wonderful loved
and that they always always have you

perfect,
long lasting,
trustworthy,
best friends forever,
shared dreams,
loud laughs,
summer nights,
quiet moments of solitude

incomparable to anything else
and therefore impossible to confuse

I put the dictionary down
and realize that I have no
definite idea of where I am.

This could possibly be the
most amusing or the most
frightening thought
I've had in a while.

I recall when
my breathing was based on your every move
and the epitome of joy
(for me)
was simply, watching you
there was not a thing
in the world
I wouldn't do
just so you would make room for two
now my walls bare witness
to me pulling teeth
(even just the memory of feeling hurts)
but it all subsides
as I greet the dusk
and then the day
I stare at traffic moving backwards
and I recall
your truth
you said "forever is just a myth"
then why does it feel like I'm taking forever to forget?

I can see in you face
you know of a world
much beyond the human eye.
Rummage through your brain,
look real hard
and you might find
there's more to this world
than you originally believed.

Illusions all around
your mind cannot grasp
the idea of a beautiful disaster
the society we live in today.

How long can we live
in a world full of imaginary beings?
No easy way out,
just remind yourself
that everything will be okay.

reality will shortly return to your mind.

Upon the taking of my last breath,
I ask that no tears be shed.
Instead, I request that there be laughter,
Laughter to fill rooms and shake shoulders.
I want there to be joy upon my departure,
Joy that may follow me wherever I go.

Do not tell them the truth.
Tell them I died valiantly,
Protecting the helpless and
Playing savior for the weak

Tell them I was fearless,
Completely unafraid and unfazed
By anything that was ever placed
Obstructively in my path.

Tell them that I danced in the rain
And that I never got sick, ever in my life,
That I wrote beautiful things and
Spoke wonderful words.
Do not tell them the truth.

Or better yet, please do.

Tell them I was broken and frightened,
Pretending to be strong always.
Tell them I was a dreamer and I never woke up.

Tell them of the music I loved.
Speak of the people I greatly adored.
Tell them I was twisted, psychotic, confused
And beautifully, boastfully, blissfully so.
Tell them how I laughed as often as possible.
Explain how I never cried in the presence of others.

Tell them how I cared for others and how
I never did understand human nature.
Tell them you could never know me
Without knowing my deepest secrets.
Tell them how few people really knew me.

Tell them they are beautiful and loved
Because that’s what I would say, if I could.
Tell them goodbye and wipe their tears.

Tell the truth of my gloriously insignificant life
But only to the ones who loved me most.

.

Each day with so much ceremony
begins, with birds, with bells,
with whistles from a factory;
such white-gold skies our eyes
first open on, such brilliant walls
that for a moment we wonder
"Where is the music coming from, the energy?
The day was meant for what ineffable creature
we must have missed?" Oh promptly he
appears and takes his earthly nature
   instantly, instantly falls
   victim of long intrigue,
   assuming memory and mortal
   mortal fatigue.

More slowly falling into sight
and showering into stippled faces,
darkening, condensing all his light;
in spite of all the dreaming
squandered upon him with that look,
suffers our uses and abuses,
sinks through the drift of bodies,
sinks through the drift of vlasses
to evening to the beggar in the park
who, weary, without lamp or book
   prepares stupendous studies:
   the fiery event
   of every day in endless
   endless assent.

Just thinking
of nothing really.
Just of how fog
can lay over grass
Correspondingly
and some things on earth
aren't even possible.
Like the fact that I can't even go
anywhere without thinking
of nothing really.
just of how you
correspond with me