Never before has such a feeling overtaken my body.
It is as though my emotions are foreign, belonging to someone else, not me.
But I look deep within my soul and take heart in the fact that I can still feel emotion.
It is then that I realize my human frailties.
Incapable of full recognition, I simply stare at my feelings from the corner of my mind.
They laugh in my face, knowing all to well that I have no knowledge of their origin.
And yet, I feel as though they are my familiars,
Always around me, waiting to provide comfort.
"When the door of happiness closes, another one opens;
But often times we look so long at the closed door
That we don't see the one that has been opened before us."
The words keep ringing in my head.
I want them to go away, to leave me to my insanity.
Yet they still persist in haunting my thoughts, clouding my mind and forcing upon me,
A focus of stability.
Stability, the one big joke the world plays on an unsuspecting individual
Trying to make life something more than hell.
'As long as I maintain a stable thought process,' I tell myself,
'Then everything will be alright.'
There is one problem, however, stable as my thoughts may be,
They provide me with no correctness, no right-with-the-world feeling, no, no, nothing...
That must be where the joke comes into play. It has to be.
Of course, a joke is supposed to be funny.
Who knows, maybe the world is laughing at me right now, this very moment.
A big, cosmic prank. I'll never know. Would I even want to know?
Door of happiness, huh, that is the real joke.
If all you have to do is open this magical door of success and happiness,
Well, then I have a bit of a problem, because my door seems to be locked.
Every time I think that something, even a little thing, might be going my way,
It decides to spit in my face and benefit someone else.
No job, no boyfriend, a sister that hates me, skin that hates me even more,
Friends that won't talk to me unless I want to talk to them first. What a joke.
I need a vacation, that is what I need. A vacation from my life,
Or a very long nap would do. Rip Van Winkle style,
20 years and then wake up to a completely new surrounding, start from scratch.
That would do me just fine.
This poem is © 2004 SpringSpaz, to whom comments may be sent.
