I'm not sad. I mean, some days are better than others. Sure. But everybody's days are like that. Right? I don't have trauma or relationship problems. I never cared enough about people's opinions to be hurt by them. Some might call that enviable. If they said it to me, I never heard it. I call it lonely.
Even though I'm not lonely.
It's just that, at the end of the uneventful day, maybe I should have cared. Maybe if I'd tried harder to be liked, I'd be more likeable, you know? I'd have friends to talk to and things to do and my days wouldn't be spent sleeping away over-thought-through nights of wondering why I didn't/wasn't/am not become/ing a better version of myself.
I am not sad. I just regret some things.
In fact the childhood arena was sublime. The mud pies towered. The trampoline jumps didn't make you jump, they made you soar. Once I had my own glow in the dark ant farm. It was good.
I mean, I was taught to stand up for myself, for god's sake. When kids were mean, I had something to say. When dads didn't show up for visitation, I still knew my worth. I even had a loving mother. How sad is that? I should be happy. I mean, I am happy.
I'm happy, I just get discouraged.
I'm not even discouraged. I'm just thinking. I'm thinking that it's good to think. Setting well-established boundaries early in life is healthy. I don't need friends. I don't need a dad. I've got good stuff going on. I've got a nice life.
I'm really, very happy. I am.
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The Tea: Spilt and Bitter
PoesíaThe Tea ~ A Collection of Rants & Poems As long as I can remember, life has always seemed sort of poetic to me: Walking home down a street that looks empty, maybe sad, with a look on your face that shows your deepest thoughts of the day...
