HAPPY

age 6 - “what do you want to be?” a velociraptor

age 8 - “what do you want to be?” a chiropractor

in my youth, i sought to be appropriate

but now, mature, a dream hypochondriac

at 14, i wanted to be an architect

spend my time on something really worth it

at 16, i was on my way to be a defense attorney, aiming

for harvard, hoping to have them begging

17 - nothing

18 - happy.

 

18 - i want my depressions and anxieties to melt like my childhood dreams

i want my smiles and laughter to ricochet off sharp corners, soften them, until they reach the ears of others

remind them that their lungs still work, too

that they, too, are still able to breathe.

 

but maybe we don’t want to

we’ve been conditioned not to

not to show peace in front of the miserable

nor contentment in the company of the complacent

despite the fact that we repeat “laughter is the best medicine like a pop song chorus, stuck inside our heads

but why are the ones that need it most the best exceptions?

 

we gather together like an exclusive club, with meetings in secret places as if we were the

“despondents” anonymous

amongst ourselves in our sodden blanket forts, we brag about our bruises

16 - “i’m more depressed than you”

17 - “well, i have anxiety”

18 - “bipolar, too. triple threat, baby!”

 

however, if the whispers of our diagnoses, clinical or cynical, make it to the unaffected, glares turn to face us, as if they’d rather replace us than spend their narrowed eyes to show how graceless you people really are

as if the depressed don’t belong outdoors

as if our bodies cannot physically handle the positive side-effects that sunlight might contain

“keep those sad criminals locked away!” mothers cry at us, the monsters

“protect our children from this disease!” even my own father screams

 

i want my daughters to brag to their friends that their mother taught them that their sadnesses are acceptable

always there while always palpable, but never a source of shame

of embarrassed, pink cheeks, as long as you always try to say

“someday, happy” “someday”

 

but we teach our little girls and our growing boys that, before obtaining happiness, we must first be content by valuing ourselves of passing grades and GPAs

student loans, get a job, a mortgage, then a life

please your wife, your kids, but not you yet

because you can fix yourself when you’re dead

we must first seek a year end bonus, then craft a new god or idol

but instead

we make the mundane immortal

 

we must first twist our bodies into hard shells to cover the vulnerabilities that we possess within

we do this because our organs must never feel the sunlight, shiver, but then bloom

instead, we root - then rot

never leaving hometowns, implanting fail safes, just in case

just in case

just in case we win our smiles back from our alarm clocks and day jobs

just in case we find a happiness, we must first…

 

“we must first,” “we must first,” “we must first…”

 

18 - stop talking.

 

we must first silence ourselves and the busy sounds we mumble on monday mornings

we don’t have to first obey the terms and conditions that none of us realized that we had signed up for, a  subscription we can’t unsubscribe from that we don’t have time for, nor can we afford

and these things that we toss our signatures at lead to a disguised appendix in the back of the dictionary of life

step 1 - graduate

step 3 - graduate again

step 4 - get married

we get so focused on following every rule we’re force-fed that we didn’t notice that our fabricators omitted step number two

we’re okay with it because we’ve been brainwashed to

we don’t need it as long as we make more than our friends, but it really all depends

2 - be happy

2 - find yourself

2 - be thatself

 

we don’t question skipping ourselves because we’ve been trained like pavlov’s dog that we mean nothing, and

once we accept it? rewarding.

we’re taught that we mean nothing

that the world doesn’t hold anything better,

not for us

the broken, the depressed, the underfed and stressed

all i am is words that we’ve all been given again

apocalyptic, halitosis, mesozoic, cannabis

memorize, but i ask you…

why don’t we ask why?

 

 

to distract yourself from yourself to prevent both happiness and distress

distract yourself from yourself

obey, obey! but what for? this isn’t 1984

so stop talking, and treat yourself, for once, because you’re worth it

if i repeat myself, scream enough, will you hear me?

can anyone hear me?

 

hear me, and be happy.

be happy, be happy, be happy.

18 - worth it

18 - happy.

 

This poem is about: 
Me
Our world

Comments

Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.
 

 

If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741