I suppose I am happy.
Like when I am with my friends,
Throwing my head back and covering my mouth
as I shake with laughter
at a joke someone just made
but then day turns to night
and my carefree grin turns into an unexplainable sadness,
etched on my face like a tattoo.
And I lay in bed,
Thinking about all the things I wish I could say--
All the things I'm too afraid to admit,
even with only pen and paper and mind
it's nights like these when I realize:
I am many things.
I am happy and sad,
Outgoing and shy,
Rambunctious and quiet
But mostly,
I am just empty.
