it's 2:24 am
and it's dark out
and it's not yet light
and I'm watching Netflix
and my bed hugs me
and it's 2:25 am now
and you're still on my mind

i am empty

empty

not blank

not poem-less sheet of notebook paper empty

not missing

not one missing sock from an eight year old's favourite striped pair empty

i am empty

like the space in the glass box where an exhibition in the museum of broken hearts used to be


so

empty

This stress goes on,
I can't remember what happiness is supposed to feel like.
Neither the cranium, the heart,
so I can just pretend.
To sound optimistic after
saying hi after a while.
But I can only protect myself.
Can never be used.
So to those who got everything.
The pictures are all around.
I'll get my happiness back someday.
I'll smile without cringing afterwards,
and laugh without going insane.
I may be different.
I am no harm.
I am glad you have your happiness still
since when it comes to moving on
you have it easy.
I do not. I don't forget.
I remind myself
then I hate myself.
But why do I get the hate?
Don't I deserve to be happy again?
Give it back to me right now.
But you can't.
Only I can be the director of my feelings.
And I will cast my happiness
back in my play.
And my life will not be a drama of hurt
but a drama and comedy of
where I deserve to be
and what I work hard for.
Thus not earned,
but taken.
Happiness is deserved by all
and can't be bought.
So think of what is there.
Smile.
I'm going to be happy. :)

breaking ice in my mineral water
lime spritzing the air and
dripping down my fingertips
as i twist it and sip its tang
hot sunlight radiating on my
body until the sweat glistens
at even the slightest movement
the rustle of well-worn pages
his sharp Adam's apple
rolls ever so slightly with a swallow
of the sparkling glass
the bubbles, like tiny diamonds
the hiss of the sprinkler next door
and the squealing chortles
of the neighbor kids running in it
chocolate melting on my tongue
chair squeaking when I recline

Happy is as happy does, but
I'm thankful happy's mine.