Happiness is constantly running,
Stalling and
Calling and
Most certainly bawling.
The opposite of its name,
Is how happiness feels.
The stress on its shoulders,
As it sits and it kneels.
Too many people to please.
Too many people to make content.
It sits and it pleads,
Wishing to find some way to vent.
We all picture light,
Joy and love ,
When we think of happiness.
But you see, a surprise is above.
Happiness is sad.
And that makes sad happy.
Continuing this poem will make it sound sappy.
But the irony... Oh the irony....
How when we are mad, we are truly content. Or when we are quiet we want to vent. Or how when we are sad we really are happy, or when we hate romance we secretly are sappy. No one knows... How to stop how we feel. Because the theory itself is simply unreal.
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My Original Poetry
PoetryHey, there!! I have been writing poetry since I was little. I realized that I have never posted any of it kind of scared of judgement. Some are suicidal from really bad times in my life. Some are happy from the best way times I will ever experience...
