All the poems I see are sad.
I hit shuffle for the hundredth time,
Hoping not to see the word "gone" or "pain" or "alone."
Once again, I am disappointed.
Yes, I get it.
We turn to poetry when our souls are darkest
To release our insecurities under anonymity
To see the yellow lightning bolt shouting,
"Someone cares!"
Into your darkness.
And this is all right.

But there is also joy in this earth.
There are weird moments when I feel happy
Even though I don't have a boyfriend
And my best friend isn't talking to me
And it's grey and bleak outside.
In these moments of inexplicable happiness,
There is just as much poetry
As there is in the moments
Of inexplicable sorrow.