A Little Bit of Happiness, A Little Bit of Joy

Elise's Reason to Write

I used to think

that I had everything.

It didn't sink

in until I realized

I was wrong.

I looked everywhere I could,

but there was no song.

I'm lonely,

and it hurts.

Everyone looks at me

like I'm such dirt,

but when I look back

no one's there.

Where am I?

What am I seeing?

I make a promise,

but who am I guaranteeing?

People are like soap bubbles

to my fingers.

They're unable to see my troubles

and so they leave.

One by one

they're gone.

They're out in the sun

while I'm in the dark.

It's not fair.

And so I write,

all for one sole intention.

I have a reason

with no sight of intervention

because no one notices,

no one cares.

I'm in the night,

my eyes in a stare,

the moon is so pale,

so lonely,

just like me.

I'm an only.

My purpose to write

is probably unlike anyone else

because I'm tight

in my shell.

There's persons

completely in black or white

and it worsens.

All my characters

are not real,

I know.

However I steal

from reality,

I understand.

My characters

are my dream.

They are attentive,

although they may not seem.

They give me life,

they give me truth,

all I am;

I am no sleuth.

As the group

they are

the troop.

My characters are love,

my peace.

With them my loneliness

does cease.

It's only for them

that I can write.