Still, I choose light.

Happy, Anyway

The air here is heavy,

thick with complaints

and sharp little comments

that cut without leaving marks.

Still, I choose light.

They pass rumors around

like sugar packets at a table,

sweet on the outside,

making everything bitter.

I stir my own cup slowly.

I drink only what I make.

Some days, their anger

hangs on the walls

like peeling paint,

flaking into every conversation.

So I bring color.

A small joke.

A kind word.

Music in my earbuds

that no one else can hear

but somehow softens my shoulders.

They call it “just how it is,”

this constant storm of drama,

but I am learning

to be my own umbrella,

to walk through the rain

without swallowing it.

I take deep breaths

as if peace were oxygen,

as if joy were a quiet decision

I can keep making

even when no one understands

why I’m still smiling.

Let them roll their eyes.

I will protect this gentle place

inside my chest,

water it with small hopes,

guard it with firm boundaries,

and remind myself, daily,

that happiness is not a gift

they can give or take away—

it is a room

I keep building

where their voices

cannot reach.