Over Under

Over Under

1/24/08

Happiness is subjective.

Anger is solid.

Sadness is the veil,

And rope that holds

The line between the two.

I’m really confused,

And can’t quite put this,

To words, to paper, nor,

Even to complete, sane thoughts,

But then, sane is overrated.

I hate comedy among gloom,

Funny among depression,

Jokes when I’m angry.

Just let me be, let me be,

Me, I want to be me.

All the “expectations” and “hopes”

Are false. Only what I say matters.

I care about some opinions, but

When most force it, I feel pain,

Physical and mental suicide ensues.

Exaggeration, half the time,

Truth, the other fifty percent.

Do I care what you think

Of my mental health? If you,

Think I ought to, then reconsider.

Feelings are underrated.

People don’t express enough

Anymore. This makes me look

Queer, when I turn, and hop

Up the rapids.

I do it in private.

I write these to myself

And when the others,

Expose them, I don’t really,

Mind, but I worry.

Will they interpret it wrong?

Does this seem too dark?

Am I suicidal? Am I not who they thought?

What goes through their minds,

As they go through, raping my words.

I have my own little world.

My own little network.

It connects the corners to form

This circle around me.

I’m trapped as I wait for the next thought.