I am a firm believer of believing
No matter how you choose to do so.
So is your cup half full, or half empty?
Does it matter?
I'm not asking for an existential crisis,
merely for you to observe.
The world has you down,
You're tossing around
Sleep is no longer a goal
Seeming completely improbable
And this isn't the first,
And it isn't the worst
And it will happen again
And again, and again
And there's things that you want
Things you don't have
A screaming inside
For what you've done "bad"
And your cup is half empty.
You walk with a smile
Your steps cover miles
Lie soft in your bed
Count sheep in your head
You don't have it all
But you know you can fall
Asleep.
And your cup is half full.

And neither of you is whole.
But you're both in containers
Judging life at the equator
Of what you have
And wanting more:
Wondering forever what's in store
Fearing or hoping
Love or loathing
You don't know, and its fine
No it's not, bubbles brine
Lines begin to blur
The still begin to stir
And suddenly
Something changes.

Is it good?
Is it bad?
Why do we judge things,
Happy, sad.
Quantifying feelings, playing these games
Half full or half empty,
Pretending that the names
We give to our existence
which we do with such persistence
Make us any different
from each other.

Fifty percent is not a whole
And either way you're not as full
As you should be.
If we must insist that life's a cup
Then do your best to fill it up
With malice, tears,
Kindness, fears,
Hopes, dreams
Memories, things
In all shapes and sizes
Be they "empty" or "full"
It all gets mixed to make your soul
And just remember that when you sip your drink
Not only do the lightest liquids float
But the heaviest ones sink.

And what about me?
What do I see
To be able to preach this obscure testimony?
I see that my cup
Has yet to be filled.