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.

 

March 2016