Tuesday, May 17, 2011

Poetry Wednesday: Happy

Note: This is probably going to be a regular feature here. Feedback, as always, is appreciated.

I used to say I was not happy, but sad
That everything I actually had
Was misery pain, doom and gloom, no rays of hope shined in my room but now…
Now I see that what before had depressed me should not make me sad, but happy!

My neuroses once depressed me, my insecurity was more than I could bear.
Every decision caused an existential crisis. EVERY decision.
“What shoes should I wear today? Black leather, sandals, run down runners? The black leather looks best, but it might make me look like I take life too seriously. Oh my god, does caring about taking life too seriously mean I’m taking life too seriously?”
Seriously. Every choice leads to dilemma.
“The sandals…well, my feet are too ugly, I’d have to wear socks…oh my god, have I turned into one of those square yuppy knobs that wears socks with sandals? Since when have I cared for superficiality? What has happened to me?”
Behind every door lay more inane insanity
“The runners, then. But they look so grunge. ‘So grunge’? Has anyone said that since 1994? Am I that old, that out of touch, that stuck in the past that I follow 14 year old trends?”
This paralyzed me at all turns, I came to no conclusion.
This path only leads to confusion, never finding truth.
But you know what? I don’t want to figure it out.
I want the search for truth to go on,
For those who have it figured out are wrong
And we confused souls, all the rest, wear indecision like a vest
Honesty is a virtue, you see.
I can’t hide my neurosis, thus I’m naturally virtuous.
And that makes me happy.
My loneliness once got me down, being surrounded but alone,
Not being able to relate with the vast majority of humanity, but now I see.
You see, I am above the slings and arrows of outrageous misfortune they hurl at me, the lower strata of humanity.
I’m immune to the crushing lows and inconsequential highs of their miserable, sickening lives.
I can appreciate these cretins, however, as the fascinating creatures they are
Much better as an outsider, and for that I’m happy.
My depression once made me sad, and all the others who were glad reminded me of my own inadequacy. I wondered if there was something wrong with me?
But I can see, as the happy cannot,
In this crystal planet the filthy spots that need to be wiped
Happiness is denial of the world’s imperfection, and only the depressed are equipped to see it and fix it and give you a reason to smile.
My sadness may save the world, and that makes me happy.

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