if pimples were encountered as beauty marks,
pain was a pleasure and sorrow was a privilege,
and day was horrid and nights were breath taking,
life would be feel quite right-
but I'd be living in fright
for
I would not be I.

if hell was heaven and heaven was hell
would you go bad to go up
for good to go down,
If a lie weren't a lie,
chicken pocks were lovely and good health was a disease.
for it would be wrong,
a unknown singer would write a song,
I'd be in suspense,
the waters too dense.
you would not be you

if the moon came up at sunrise, would the trees say good morning or good night,
if a thousand words meant one thing,
would you write me a poem about anything,
or would you write me a novel telling me everything.
yet today would still be present and yesterday would still be the past
try walking through glass,
we would not be we.

more than thoughts stay in minds
and dreams take action,
thanks to mr.cummings
now I'm stranded with ifs
rather than dancing with why nots.