For some reason
No matter the brilliant imagery
And the shiny diction
Poems always end up sounding
And feeling
Sad

If I write about
The glorious rays of sun
Like pure drops of gold
The days of summer
Hearing children's laughter
Splashes of the pool
Staying up late outside
Listening to the chorus of crickets
The taste of fruity popsicles
Stickiness from the giant slice
Of watermelon
I could go on and on

But as hard as I try
There is always a sadness
To whatever I read
To whatever I write
And I wonder why

Is it because they are memories?
Things we long for?
Unattainable dreams?
Even things we have now…
Are they tinted with what all the ifs?
I have not once read a poem
That made me feel happy
I haven’t written a poem
That has made me joyful
Sure some have made me laugh
Some have made me feel proud
I can relate to some
But I don’t think
A poem will ever make me happy.