Poetry eludes me again,
Between sick, busy and in love
There´s little time to ponder.
I want to write about good stuff, too
But I don´t know how
It´s like I´m more private with happiness
Than I am with sorrow,
People are usually the other way around.
I read somewhere once that happiness
Is boring to write about
Because we´re all happy in the same way
Whereas unhappiness is individual-
That´s where the real beauty lies.
I don´t know about you
But I´ll take happy any day
I´ll smile from ear to ear
Just because I can
And if that makes me silly
So be it,
I caught my own eye in a window
The other day:
I haven´t been so beautiful in ages.