Not
everything i could dream of
is what i’ve finally got
it seems like when i’m happy though
i focus on the ways i’m not.
instead of seeing pleasure
i envision things gone wrong
i imagine conversations
being told i don’t belong.
i imagine all the lies
and secrets that might be kept
i compare to all the times i’ve trusted
but in the end have wept.
i think of all the ways to hurt
and a peace of mind that can’t be bought
it’s always when i should be happy
i find all the ways to not.
and then i know i’m being
so selfishly unfair
my joy should be a given
i have no right to despair.
and then i hate myself again
for all that i can’t be
for doubting all the things i shouldn’t
for letting myself be me.
for seeing trustworthyness in another
but knowing i can’t be taught
for knowing when i’m happiest
is when i choose to not.
