My sadness gets up at 2:00 am
Then again at 4:00
And 5:30
And 6:45
Then 7:00am

After the snooze alarm goes off
My sadness wears concealer and mascara to make it
feel awake
and pretty

My sadness hides behind a joke, a smile, a laugh
My sadness is scared of my happiness, who
Stops by once in a while
but just for a quick hello

My sadness doesn’t show through the way
I pull myself together in the morning like nothing is wrong
Or when people ask “how are you?” And replies “I’m good!”
People don’t see my sadness in the stories I tell,
the schoolwork I do, the advice I give them for their problems

My sadness doesn’t show up like other’s sadness
It doesn’t hold its head down in the hallway,
or sleep in until 12, it doesn’t go days without eating,
and it doesn’t try to keep happiness in a locked door

No.

My sadness only shows through the poetry I write
The music behind my earbuds
The short stream of tears when the doors are
closed and the windows are open hoping that just one
small bit of happiness will come inside and stay for longer
than a joke, a laugh, a smile.

My sadness stays in the shower longer than usual,
gets angry a little too easily, and cries a little too much
when watching The Notebook.
It doesn’t look like sadness or walk like sadness or talk like sadness
But that doesn’t mean it isn’t sadness.

No.

You can’t see my sadness.
It doesn’t show like a person with a
broken leg and crutches
You don’t take one look at it and know that
It is crippled and broken down

No.

My sadness is like cancer
You don’t know it’s there until you strip me down
peel back the layers of my skin
to see that I’ve been breathing an air like smoke
that’s caused a growth in my lungs and heart so
that each breath I take, each drop of blood that flows
through my veins feels like a weight on my chest that
can only be lifted with you laying beside me and holding
me until I feel as light as a feather souring through the wind
after finally break free of its bird. Its burd-en.
The thing that’s been holding it down, keeping it from doing
the impossible. But, possibly you can’t lift that weight.
possibly it’s only me that can lift that weight.

Possibly it’s been me the whole time.
Possibly I am the one that kicks happiness out the door
When it stops by because I don’t see happiness
Without you here
But how dare I place the image of happiness
Only in your presence when happiness can fall
In from any joke, or laugh, or smile
And happiness can stay past the sunset
Because you can still see happiness when all you feel
Is the darkness
Happiness can come in when the door
Is bolted shut because happiness doesn’t
Ask if it can come over
Happiness waltzes right in, unannounced, but
Always welcome.
So the next time my sadness is sitting at the table
And we are having a cup of coffee,
And happiness runs through the door
I will show sadness the exit
And then turn to happiness and say “it is great to
See you, please stick around for a while.”
And later when it gets up to leave
I will grab it by the arm and hold
onto it tighter than you ever held me.

Sadness is easy.
Sadness is fluid.

Sadness is a teardrop
that flows
to a river
Sadness flows.

Sadness is the rain
that pours
on a Sunday afternoon
Sadness pours.

Sadness is a long drive
in a strech of a road
without trees
without people
without houses
Sadness stretches
Sadness is never ending.

Sadness is looking outside
the airplane window
seeing nothing
but clouds
no ground
no greens
no blues.

Sadness is looking up
at the sky
at the vast dark sky
without stars
without clouds
without the moon.

Sadness is the abyss
Sadness is blank
Sadness is flat
Sadness is stagnant
Sadness is easy.

Sadness is not just tears
And sobs
And mourning and
Isolation

Sadness is the bags under your eyes
Because you can't sleep at night
Sadness is the indifferent silence where laughter used to ring

Sadness is empty chore where
Passion used to flow
Sadness is an occupied bed
With no sleeping scheduled

Sadness is the empty glint in your eyes
Where a twinkle used to shine
Sadness is a heavy sigh at
Two in the morning

And two in the afternoon
Sadness is losing interest
In people you used to adore
Sadness is slipping

From life everyday
But still breathing
Sadness is
Not sadness

This Sadness is Depression.
And Depression is dying
While you're still alive

This is just a boring sadness;
a low-lying, flat sort of sadness,
just a grey sea on a drizzly day.
There’s nothing major going on here,
nothing monumental, nothing tragic.
It’s all just a bit blue round the edges.

This isn’t an explosive sadness,
it isn’t a torrent and it isn’t rock bottom.
It’s just a boring sadness that hums steadily
and it’s fine, really. It’s fine.

It’s just a sort of storm globe sadness,
willing to become tempestuous when shaken.
The waves rush, lightening darts, thunder bellows,
but it all happens behind glass.
And it’s fine, really, because it settles itself quickly.
The sea goes flat again and it’s fine.

It’s just a monotonous sadness,
the sort that makes life dull and hopeless.
It keeps you in your bedroom
and it ticks off the years and still,
you’re in the bedroom,
yet to have your first kiss,
your first heart break,
your first night out,
your first airplane ride,
your first concert,
your first car,
but it’s fine, because it’s a sadness
that comes down like a fall
of paper snowflakes and it’s fine.
It’s all fine.

It’s just a boring sort of sadness,
so you watch other people’s misery instead
and you wish you could spare them the pain.
You become a twisted sort of sadness covet,
a sadness thief, stealing sadness that isn’t boring,
stealing sadness that seems worse than your own
And it hurts you and makes you feel worthless,
all these bungled attempts to rob sadness
but it’s fine, really. At the end of the day, you’re fine.
It’s just another bit of boring sadness and you are fine.

my sadness knows no love
my sadness knows no fear
my sadness knows no pain
my sadness knows no end
my sadness knows no happy endings
my sadness knows no sleep

my sadness knows lies
my sadness knows death
my sadness knows scars
my sadness knows eulogies
my sadness knows 2am voices
my sadness knows 4am shadows

my sadness - knows how to hit every Self-Destruct button and watch me disintegrate into a million and one pieces, and then hits the buttons again

Sadness is a burden
Sadness is a weighted rope
Sadness is a black hole
Sadness is the absence of
all joy and hope
Sadness is a moth fluttering
inside the darkness of a broken heart
Sadness is a crawling centipede
its seemingly endless creeping feet
tearing your insides apart
Sadness is a leaf left
to rot upon the earth
Sad ness is a fetus never
given birth
Sadness is the absence
of softly shining light
Sadness is the need to flee
with never the chance to take flight
Sadness is the rose
with no perfume and no petals
just a broken stem of thorns
Sadness is the lonely bird
that sings a plaintive song
in the darkness of a thousand
winter dawns

Sadness is a teardrop
that flows
To a river
It flows

Sadness is the rain
That pours
On a dim afternoon
It pours

Sadness is a long drive
On a particularly long stretch of road
Without trees
Without homes
Without anything
Sadness stretches
Sadness is neverending

Sadness is looking at yourself
In the reflection
Of a window
And not seeing
You
But a shell of you you were
And never will be again

Sadness is never leaving your room
Sadness is letting everyone move on without you
Sadness is disappointing your family everyday
Sadness is nothing
Sadness is my everything

When asked what is sadness
there are a number of answers
perhaps sadness is
what we feel when we're alone
but not completely at ease
perhaps sadness is
happinesses broken younger sister
perhaps sadness is
the thing some people crave for
more than anything else
perhaps sadness is
loving someone who doesn't love you back
perhaps sadness is
what comes when we lose love
or have never found it
perhaps sadness is
the only one that feels our pains
perhaps sadness is
a reminder that we're human
well most of the time anyway
or perhaps sadness is
just another emotion that follows confusion
sadness is an emotion we feel
when our minds just don't want to believe what's just happened
or we just don't understand...

I am just a sad rock on the road, but when I remember your voice, I feel the strange green and dewy touch of my skin, so I smile. I am alone, like this bitter time, and I am only good at sadness. I write to you with sadness because I am from the sad land. The roads here are sad, the stories are sad, the hearts are sad, even the smiles are sad. We are here when we write, we write with sadness, when we read, we read with sadness, when we love we love with sadness, and when we laugh, we laugh with sadness. They stole our door and stole our windows, so the sadness entered our homes with air. We have become fish that breathe sadness, and when we are born, we are born with sadness because we know that behind our stolen doors and behind our stolen windows, nothing awaits us but sadness.

The definition is:
A condition or quality of being sad.
It's more than that,
It is...
well--- how do I put this?
It's a way we express our displeasure with something sadly.
Sadness is an emotion, an expression, a state of mind.
Sadness its weakness...
but also,
Strength.
Sadness is a state where we feel sad and express how sad we feel.
Some of us express sadness by, crying, hiding, and being quiet.
But sadly some of us cut, burn, mutilate, and starve ourselves.
Sadness is good and bad.
Sadness is something I give off as I write this poem.
Realizing what I have done and what I will do.
I strive though to change.
Sadness is something,
Good and bad,
Sadness is something that is seen as,
Strong and weak,
Sadness is seen,
as a state of mind and thought

Sadness isn't just one emotion
      it's a blanket
                   that warms the others
                                Warm, how unusual
            yet all my sadness
                               is never cold
                                                            ­                              never cool
                  I like things that are
                          cool
   and I do not like sadness
                               no, to me it is warm
                                     uncomfortably so
         as though lit by the fires of a hell I don't believe in
a torment in false hopes
         hope that is so warm
                just like sadness
                                       which is like
               hope and despair
              seasoned with twinges of guilt
                             and anxiety
  like the horrid blush that comes
when you've done something naughty
burning so hot you fear your face
     will melt
         that is what sadness feels like
                                                            to me
   wretched and horrid and never enough shame
       So silly, to think there's something that ought to go with it
                                              as though sadness itself were not enough

         perhaps they were right
            you can become addicted
                        to a certain kind of sadness
           like a drug of sorts
  a chemical cocktail you brew in your mind
          to douse your feelings when you don't want them
      because sadness is safe
                                                 it's familiar
                                                        ­                                        and you know how to deal with it


                                        so you think

                      even as it eats you alive from the inside
              you think you can control it
                         that you can stop whenever you want
                                and that's the lie of it
                                                        becaus­e
                                                        sadness
                           isn't just sadness
        it's everything else we don't need
                                     don't want
                            
         shame
                         remorse                                  
                                                     regret       
                              fear

          ­                   why hold on to them?
                         yet I can't seem to stop
           it pulls me back
addicted to the drug of familiarity
       funny, I think, to be addicted to shame
                                   touted so long as something to shy away from
         that regret is not worth the effort
   and remorse a thing
to let go of
        yet here I am
clasping them in my hands
  breathing life to them
      when they wither
terrified when they are gone
       a curse that I know will return
                     so why wish for it to leave?
           A life can be lived in the warmth
                          not a good one, albeit
                    but a life
                        instead of a lie
                     an addiction to sadness
                                 rather than
                         happiness
          at least I shall never be disappointed.

The sadness
Was a black pool
Of a haunting tragedy.

The sadness
Is a suicide
Of a lonely man.

The sadness
Is the gripping of bed sheets
And the clenching of teeth through crying eyes.

The sadness
Are the lonely nights alone
And the agony of vulnerability.

The sadness
Is a contagious disease
A promise of eternal melancholy.

The sadness
Are the sleepless nights
Of empty wishing on dead stars

The sadness
It was an overwhelming emotion
Like a cannibal
Tearing my flesh off my bones
A delicacy of the highest honor.

The sadness
Was a jump from a skyscraper
A slit on the wrist
An overdose off pills.

A merciless dance of death.

my sadness is asking to use the bathroom during class just so I can lock myself up in one of the stalls and break down completely without worrying about people watching me. my sadness is trying trying trying to write but my hands are shaking too much to do anything but bury my head in them. my sadness is typing up messages to friends about what a ****** day it's been, but deleting the whole thing just as I'm about to send it, because no one deserves to be burdened by my problems— this is my struggle and mine alone; and I need to be able to deal with it. my sadness is not being in control of my own thoughts; not knowing how make the screaming voices stop. my sadness is absorbing the pain from people around me and sometimes letting it get to me.
--
my sadness isn't rainy days and a few "sad songs". my sadness isn't "she drank the whole bottle but your name still burns at the back of her throat". my sadness isn't me spending time in children's playgrounds, surrounded by people with thoughts darker than mine ever could be, and a taste for drugs and danger. my sadness isn't "she smokes now, but her mind is still as hazy as the day you left". my sadness isn't flowers in my hair or anything that can be encapsulated in a tumblr photo or quote. my sadness isn't beautiful, nor poetic.
--
it's just sad.

People label me as one of those very observant ones they have ever met in their lives. Whatever I think about others, is close enough to ninety percent of the truth (not to judge, of course).

And it is also truth that those who laugh the most, cry the most. I guess this also applies to those very positive people, who are the most negative in their heads or they've also been through the most negative incidents.

There is a certain boy, a young man, who just entered the twenties stage of life. I observe and read him, and I have been doing this for the past eight months.

He is quiet, he is kind, he is a very bright person who looks out for others, probably too much. He is smart and has attended top schools and won several competitions in the martial arts, as well as performing and fine arts. A very artistic soul, quite opposed to his rather playful countenance; though beauty is displayed in all his capabilities and striking features. Even the way he speaks is soothing and gentle, and I admit I would sleep to it and regret how his voice is too nice to be literally slept on.

I know a part of his painful past with the spinal tuberculosis accident or the fact when he couldn't enter his dream art school. And perhaps, a darker part of his history that is unknown except by him and his close ones.

But I can see it, I can see it on his face, in his actions and some of his words: sometimes he tries to get attention by doing unnecessary or silly things; says the weirdest of phrases; he gets tired and there's this certain feeling lurking in his gaze. He always looks like he's looking for something, for someone. He always looks like he is wondering about everything and anything. He even looks lost or frustrated on some occasions.

Honestly, a Sadness Collector knows when another is nearby or in sight. I am one, and I know he is another. He always wants people to depend on him or for them to think that he is alright. It's not so bad, but I wish he would rest his little fragile heart that can only take so much of others' sadness. He still has his own sadness to keep under all of that. I want him to give some of it to me that the burden and tears may be shared between us, and he can live a little lighter.

But I love him, because he is a different Sadness Collector. He always cheers others up and tries to help. He always compliments others. He is always willing to learn the right way, to go out and do his best. This Sadness Collector doesn't deserve to be one; he deserves to collect happiness instead.

Although there are times when his friends say that he is quieter that usual, and a bit less active. He says he usually sleeps it off and feels better when he awakes after. He says he rarely gets stressed but when he does, it's a whole different thing and only he knows how his own mind can destruct his built-up facade of confidence. Maybe he gets too quiet at times because he thinks he might make a mistake again. He may appear very vain and very confident, but I'm afraid it might all just be an image that he's painted of himself for everyone around him to see.

His music taste is very much like mine. He shared some alternative music, but as soon as I heard the melody and read the lyrics, it doubled as a small cry of distress.

I’m actually very beautiful when the world is pitch-black
The most I’ll get is being consumed when I try to love
The trouble is irrelevant
It doesn’t matter what’s wrong

If only I can be flattered just like you do
Then the torment around me will perhaps die out
I’m not concerned about how many chances I get
As fearless as a giant; indulging myself; however I’m no match

Ugly, don’t turn the lights on
The love I want is haunted on the pitch-black stage
Ugly, in this ambiguous time
My existence is like an accident

Some look beautiful after a drop of tear
Some just throw away their name
As long as you are hypocritical enough you won’t be afraid of anything, right?
If the script is written well, who will be more dignified?
I can only silently face the beautiful innocence
There are many chances for desire to become drowning in alcohol
Like the fearlessness of dust
Becoming ash, who will remember who
Who cares if he’s a match

Ugly, you won’t blame them if you get used to it
Get high and stomp on it with strength
Ugly, this is our time
It would actually be a shock if I don’t exist

Oh, how I want to embrace him every time I think of him listening to that song. As emotional human beings, we pay attention to such lyrics more often than not, that reflect the listener's or our emotions. Maybe he thinks he lacks in many, many ways. It is normal for him to think so. But I hope he doesn't dwell on it. He likes this anime show that I watch, too. That show, though, is a sad one which shows the masks of society and the gore of the past behind every flawless present.

He is a very trustworthy friend; a funny guy who is "in love" with himself; a talented individual who loves people and language; an artist of most arts, as well as an art himself. And as much as I say that I want to be the one who collects his sadness or whom he shares his load of sadness with, sometimes I doubt he will ever let me.

I feel like I can no longer do anything anymore for him because he is the one who has already collected mine.

my sadness feels like
i'm swallowing sea water -
every gulp down my throat is a step closer to
dehydration
sinking to the bottom
no flotation
lacking foundation
my sadness feels like
vomiting frustrations
stagnation -
my sadness feels like stagnation.
sensations of vibrations
surround me but do not reach
my hands
or any part of me for that matter.
I see it -
i know its there
the energy is flowing in the air
a devious glare - i swear
i stare
and stay aware that this
illness
does more than impair - it's unfair , really.
My sadness feels like everything around me is dead -
i know its really in my head but
i look at the evening sky and see not
yellows and reds but
grays instead -
i used to imbed the colors into my
brain but lately its been filled with
tar - seeping into unhealed scars
its making a home here -
till i disappear
its not just me it's "we're" that's here -
its overstayed its welcome.
My sadness feels like a man putting his feet on my
coffee table.
My sadness feels like an empty chest -
one that rots with dust and
human rust it
echoes and howls when opened -
like its terrified of its urge to leave.
My sadness feels like a parasite that *****
until it falls but
it doesn't fall -
only crawls
through the hollow parts of me
and creates substance.
My sadness feels like accepting to drown.

This sadness, this numb
It is not poetic.
I cannot write about galaxy ridden veins
or fire seared eyes

This sadness, this emptiness
It is not beautiful
There will be no heroic sweeping away of broken princesses by
princes with cigarette clenched teeth
or ***** laced lips

This sadness, this gut-wrenching pain
Will not be daises in Marlboro boxes
It can't be unraveled threads sewed back
by an infinite but dysfunctional love

No, no.

This sadness isn't any of that.

This sadness, it's raw
It hurts to look at but it's torture to bear
People look away from this type of sadness
Because it sure as hell ain't pretty.
But what it is is real
This is the sadness that, once moved past, is never forgotten

It's worn like armor in battle
Like a coat of arms

This sadness makes you a **soldier

This poem is of sadness
Of all of life's disappointments
Much like water continuously poured
Until you can no longer breathe.  
Until you would want to break free.
Until you want to give up and break down
Until you reach a point where you just want to end it all
How cruel should life be?
When you did not do anything to deserve this.

This poem is of sadness
Of the lack of happy endings
Life only have happy endings for the fortunate ones
So little that many go out disappointed
So much more wanting it to happen

This poem is of sadness
It is of all those things kept and almost forgotten.
****** and broken but is not to be put away.
Always kept away but is still dreaded
For seeing those broken pieces that once was whole and functional hurts.  
In every level.  
In every aspect it has.  
But it is kept to keep you company in those drunken nights.  
When you can't feel the pain  
If a cut reaps your flesh.  

This poem is of sadness
Of that sadness kept in for the longest time.
Of that sadness who never saw the right
The key to light it all up.  
To keep it all away and erase it from the mind.  
To replace it with that much wanted happiness.  
To live a life better than what is right now.  
But think it over, see my dear, isn't too late to actually wish for it to happen right now
When life already took its toll  

This poem is of sadness
Of relationships broken and wounds that take too long to heal
Surely no one is to blame
But the self, the mind, and the heart
Three which is in constant battle
With nothing ever settled
The mind thinks; but doesn't see
The heart dictates; but dosen't feel
The self doesn't follow; but will give in too soon

This poem is of sadness
To the person  
Who has been looking for answers  
Constantly
In every place the feet drags  
Looking for peace
But everywhere
Was too hostile to stay

This poem is of sadness
To the two who hasn't been honest
Been there forever to conceal
Everything that needs to be revealed
An explanation isn't too hard to give
To at least relieve what has been breached

This poem is of sadness
To the support group of madness
Not knowing which ones to see
Didn't know what else to believe
Too torn of what's happening
Human caught in the middle
Silently apologizing for the damage that's too big

This poem is of sadness
Of forgiveness hard to let go
'Cause once you've been told
Not everything you see is so
Now tell me which is right and which is wrong
So at least, even in the deepest of thought,
There it is seen
The peace that took too long to see

i think in a way,
i can sense sadness.
and even though it's different for everyone,
sadness has a way of sensing me, too.

i've always been attracted to those types of people.
you know the kind i'm talking about.
with their sad smiles, and deep eyes.
the kind of people who have a story,
the kind of people who have scars.

those people are my kind of people.
you, first, with your parents divorce,
and your bottled up rage,
and the bruises you gave to me in the middle of the night,
in the bedroom on the first floor,
while everyone else was asleep.
the sadness you carried turned into rage,
and i fought to keep you in check.

and then you,
with your closet secrets,
and the dust swept under your rug.
your sadness seeped through those guards on your eyes,
and found its way right into my heart.
you etched yourself into my life,
until the sadness you felt,
i felt myself,
and your soft touches,
and sweet words,
melted into me.
and then it was all gone,
taken away in a flash,
and you walked away without a second glance.

you, next,
with your ever lasting smiles,
and modest attitude.
you never understand how much fun you are,
because you're so focused and caught up in being sad.
i saw stories in your eyes,
and the more stories i heard,
the more i learned why you were sad all the time.
but i wish the most for you, and i wish more than anything that you could be happy.
but sad people well,
they're made to be sad.
but you kept me in check.
we would talk for hours,
about pet names, and would you rathers,
and truths that i told no one but you.
and for awhile there,
i thought you could make me happy.
but our sadness together was too much,
and i ran and hid from the happiness
that i might have found in you.

you, finally,
you weren't the saddest,
or the happiest.
in fact, when i met you,
i didnt even think you were a sad person.
until i saw what she did to you,
how she broke you.
you are sad,
but because of your secrets.
because there's nothing else for you to do but hide.
you should be able to be yourself,
and live your life how you want to.

thats the thing though,
about sadness,
us sad people,
we cling to it.
we hold on to it.
and we learn to depend on it.
because,
"you can get addicted to certain kind of sadness."
and thats that.

Love settles in the back of my head and chest, but if love was a thought it was a feeling in the time of sadness which is all the time of course, sadness does not exist without reality and reality be nothing without despair. The balance of life is not black in white, yin or yen,  or happiness and sadness it is sadness and less sadness because sadness with always cover everyones head with the veil of death because death, is inevitable and death brings sadness therefor sadness is inevitable.

Death lines the corners of my mouth waiting to be inhaled as i smoke my first and maybe last cigarette maybe last because I can die at any moment.

Sadness.
How is that portrayed?
My childhood has taught me
that sadness
is merely tears and privileges taken away.
A face turned 8:20.
A tantrum.
"Boo-hoo".
But that's not at all what sadness looks like.
Sadness has bright eyes,
warm rosey cheeks,
and a perfect smile
plastered on its face.
Sadness is that girl that always smiles
but never talks
because of the fear she'll say something
not important enough to hear.
Sadness is that boy that always acts
like he's too cool for anyone
but in reality is dying for a real friend.
Sadness
can be anyone
at anytime.
And all it's trying to find
is a reason to really smile.
To be like happiness
instead of fake it.
That's sadness.

Happiness is finding someone to share your life with,
Sadness is realizing it's the wrong someone.

Happiness is having a partner,
Sadness is realizing you still have to do it all yourself.

Happiness is having passion in your heart,
Sadness is having no one who wants to share it with you.

Happiness is finding writing again,
Sadness is having no one in your life you love that truly reads it.

Happiness is having manners,
Sadness is worrying every minute of your life that you might offend someone,
until it sculpts your every waking action.

Happiness is having an epiphany,
Sadness is not knowing what to do about it.

Sadness is recognizing a problem in your life,
Happiness is having a plan to deal with it,
Sadness is knowing your probably cave in the end, like to always do.


© Misty Bishop-Martiss

Sadness should not be romanticized

sadness is evil.
sadness eats away at you until all that is left is a pile of bitter bones, frowning.
sadness swallows you whole, until youre deep into it's stomach, no hope to get out
sadness hollows you out until you become sadness. it strips you of your identity. it does not stop until you are only know as sad.

Sadness is not something to want.
Sad is not what you should aim to be.

Sadness should not be known as 'beautiful'.

sadness is what the girl feels,
hopeless as her fate is sealed.
every decision made by other people as she is forced into classes challenging and difficult,
though she knows that she cant revolt.
sadness grips her by the throat yet again by those who push her around,
the teachers, the parents, her boyfriend, the students, even the class clown.
everything is expected of her,
she is someone that people prefer,
due to her level of education and inability to say much in anything,
often not part of any deciding.
sadness pierces through her body as she lets her boyfriend hurt her with broken promises,
never making any compromises.
so many cancelled dates and broken promises lay before her as she hides her feelings,
though she cries at night and stare at the ceiling.
sadness threw her on the ground as her mom forces her to look presentable to the world,
no one likes a weird girl.
her father teaches her to fight,
oblivious to anything but whatever is on his mind,
he forces her and her family to do whatever he pleases,
unaware of any of her family's grievances.
sadness haunted her at school as her friends call her strong but are unaware of her grief,
then run off to do their usual mischief.
cant anyone see her unbearable sadness?
cant anyone get her out of this mess?
how long will it take
for her to break?
questions she ask herself everyday,
wishing she had a say.
until finally it got to her, as she held up a knife,
the one that she planned to end her life.
as she stared at it, she hesitated,
then threw it away.
she couldn't, she knew that.
because if she did, it would only bring up the one painful, heartbreaking fact.
even in death sadness is something she couldn't escape,
because that was her unbreakable, painful fate.

There is a sadness inside of me, that threatens the core my being. It lives and breathes inside of me. I try to stamp it down, to pin it's spiraling tentacles here and there, leaving them set to infect only very small areas. But this sadness and I are one of the same organisms. If I move, it moves, It wiggles it's way free and starts creeping up on me, first in my dreams and then it works it's way into my reality. It settles in my chest and expands, leaving me slightly gasping for breath as it won't let me breathe...the panic builds and slowly consumes me. And I'm lost. Lost to the sadness. Lost in the sadness.










And then I find me. I pull myself up, and lock the sadness down, encase it in concrete inside of me, inside of my heart. And I harden. Slowly the sadness is turning my heart to concrete. Beat by beat it slows. Until the transformation is complete. Strong to the core, stronger than ever before, my sadness and me.

Because between happiness and sadness
Every paper with my words tears in sadness.
There’s just too much to do with sadness.
You can write it everywhere.
Cry with it.
Shout the pain.
Keep the hurt.
Run away with it.
Forget it.
Look for what is lost.
Find yourself.
Fix what can be fix.
Tears with all the memories.
Regret with the wrong decisions.
Because with sadness, there’s always something on it.
Something you can hold and feel in your heart.
Something that can grow and get bigger.

But happiness don’t.
It floats with the air.
It fades with the time.
It only appears when it’s real.
You feel it in that moment.
And if you feel it tomorrow
and the next day and the next other days
that just it.
You just feel it.
And that’s good.
It makes you beautiful and lively.
But you can’t write it down the same way it feels like.
It can’t give you the same way it feels like
nomatter how many times you read it.
You can’t hold it and keep it in your heart.
Because happiness is too much of a feeling.
It can’t find its place to grow and live on you.
It only get high on you and flow.
It flows to people around you but that just it.

At the end of the day,
Happiness will always become a memories.
**And memories is a sadness in the making.