I want to write about dandelions,
Covering the side of the road,
Making the city a meadow.
So why does my pen always write about pain,
Why do I only think about sad moments.

I want to write about the sun shining,
My skin soaking it up,
Warming my soul.
So why do I always think of sad memories,
Why do tears spring to my eyes.

I want to write about love,
How I finally feel whole,
Complete at last.
So why do I only write about it all ending,
Why do I wait for my death.

I want to write about the good,
So why do I only see the bad?
Why can't I let myself be happy?