The Way I Think

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I only seem to be able
To write about depression
To have sadness flow from my pen
Like tears
I attempt happiness
I attempt joy
But I guess my mind
Doesn’t work that way
I attempt to put my good feelings
Into my writing
To have it merge seamlessly
Into a plot or poem
It stays contained in my head
Rotting in my mind
Like those last few drops
Of juice left in a bottle
They never come out
It frustrates me
I try so hard to make the words
Sound right for once
They tend to sound like crap
Like material happiness
Like things that don’t matter
I tell the world
When I’m sad
I tell the world
When I’m mad
But when I’m happy
Forget it
Nothing comes to my mind
I sit and I stare
Blankly into space
My mind drifts
My pen lifts
A few words
Then nothing but crap
And lies
And falsities
Flow through my pen
They pile up
And crush whatever
Little value my poem
Or plot holds
Eventually, I give up.





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